The Blameless Vestal's Lot
by Mundungus42
Summary: Hermione and Ron attend a masked ball at the Malfoy’s. Magical mischief turns sinister, and Hermione must race against time to unlock the Manor’s deepest secrets. SS/HG, epilogue- and DH-compliant, adult content.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Blameless Vestal's Lot

Author: Mundungus42

Rating: Lascivious

Warnings: DH spoilers, epilogue-compliant, graphic adult content, including dirty talk, light fetish, and suggested foursome.

Summary: Hermione and Ron attend a masked ball at the Malfoy's. Magical mischief turns sinister, and Hermione must race against time to unlock Malfoy Manor's deepest secrets. Written for the Winter 2007 round of the SSHG Exchange on LiveJournal for Sabrebabe.

Disclaimer: © 2008 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by J.K.Rowling or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

TWOOFCUPSSPUCFOOWT

**Chapter One: Two of Cups, Reversed**

TWOOFCUPSSPUCFOOWT

He could feel the storm brewing but knew there was nothing to do, other than prepare himself and wait for it to break. Having grown up with a large family in a small house, Ron Weasley understood what it meant to feel frustrated and crowded, which gave him some insight into how his wife, now forty weeks pregnant, was feeling. This was indeed fortunate, as his moment's hesitation allowed the slipper his wife shied across the room to smack into the doorjamb instead of his head.

He moved his head turtle-like into the open doorway. "All right, Hermione?"

"No, I'm not all right," she said, kicking the other slipper furiously across the room. "I'm hot, I'm exhausted, my back hurts, my feet hurt, and I have to give up the only night I have with my family this week so those slimy verucas can rub their wealth and prestige in my face. Never mind that Voldemort LIVED IN THEIR HOUSE for a year!"

"I meant with the costume," said Ron. "That Expansion Charm you did on the dress worked a treat. You weren't half as big when you tried it on as you are now."

"Thanks so much, Ron." She glared at him and yanked the dress savagely down over her belly. "The problem isn't the bliaud, it's the belt. It fit last week, and now I can't get it to look right."

Ron glanced at the illuminated manuscript from which she'd created the deceptively simple wool overdress. "It's supposed to go below the waist."

She threw up her arms in frustration. "What waist? I haven't got one now!"

"Well, try it like this." Ron wrapped the cord around her lower back and tied it beneath her swollen belly. He stood back to admire his handiwork.

"There, you look…" he trailed off, looking for an appropriate adjective.

"Like a diseased gourd."

"Well, what about if you tie it here, above Hugo?"

"The bliaud's design is all wrong for that," she explained impatiently. "See, it'd look way too modern tied below the bust, plus the front would gap open."

"Then just leave it off. You look fine without it"

Hermione gave her husband a look. "We're going to a masked ball tonight, and thanks to the Malfoys' perfect timing, there's no way in any circle of hell that I can look pretty. I can't look sexy or mysterious- none of the things a girl is supposed to be able to do at a masked ball. And if I can't have any of that, then I'm going to damn well be historically accurate!"

She gazed in the mirror, turning this way and that. "Got it," she said at length. She hiked up the wool overdress and tied the belt around the linen kirtle beneath, yanking at its trumpet sleeves to prevent them from getting tangled in the cord. "This way, you can't see where the belt is tied, but the tassels hang down below the hem. Pass my slippers, would you?"

"Brilliant," said Ron, absently nudging them next to her feet with the toe of his boot. "Are you ready now?"

Hermione examined herself in the mirror again. From her ribcage upward, she looked fine. Between the Sleekeasy's and Muggle hairspray, her hair would stay in its plait, and the veil, held in place with bobby pins and a Cementing Charm, should cover the worst of the escaping wisps.

"I suppose," she said sullenly, smoothing the fabric down over her abdomen- the dress had a tendency to ride up. She conjured a row of heavy trim on the hem, hoping that it would help keep things in place.

Her train of thought was broken by a knock at the front door.

"Is it the carriage, d'you think?"

"It's probably Arabella," said Hermione. "Be sure to tell her that we already gave Rose her sweet after dinner."

Ron's pause was a little too long. "Yeah."

"Ron, you didn't let her have more than one, did you?"

Ears red, he made a beeline for the door. "No."

"Ronald Weasley! She'll never go to sleep now!"

His voice floated up from below. "Arabella, are we glad to see you!"

Hermione thought of a few choice invectives for her husband before deciding against hollering them after him. If Ron had stuffed their daughter full of the Honeyduke's candies that had served to honor the Muggle tradition of trick-or-treating, then it was entirely likely that she had her ear pressed to her bedroom door at this very moment.

Rose was in a terribly embarrassing stage where she repeated everything she heard. It was one thing when she and Ron were talking innocuous subjects, but another thing entirely when they were talking about work. Luna Lovegood had taken it all in stride, but Ernie Macmillan, who had joined them for Rose's third birthday party, was less than pleased when she asked his help extinguishing her cake's candles, since Daddy said he was a real blowhard.

Conceding temporary defeat, Hermione felt around for her slippers with her toes and slid her feet into them. She seized her beaded bag from the dresser and made her way down the stairs to the entryway, where Arabella was regaling Ron with stories about her latest litter of kittens.

"Gracious, my dear, you look ready to drop a litter yourself!"

"Just one, thank goodness," said Hermione, laying a hand on her stomach. "This is Hugo. He'll be joining us in a week or two."

"Yes, have your fun while you can," said Arabella with a cackle. "There'll be no fancy dress parties for you two for a while once the new babe arrives. Now, where's my little Rosebud?"

As if on cue, Rose's door opened and she came running down the stairs.

"No, no, no!" she cried, wrapping her chubby little arms around her father's leg. "You can't go tonight! I won't let you!"

"Cheer up, Rosie," said Ron. "We'll be back before you know it! And we promise to bring you something nice from the party."

"We do?" asked Hermione in Ron's ear.

Rose tugged on her father's costume. "What will you bring me?"

"If we told you, it wouldn't be a surprise," said Hermione. "Now you be good for Mrs. Figg. If we hear that you've been naughty, there will be no present. Do you understand, Rose?"

"No present if I'm naughty," she repeated sullenly.

"That's a good girl," said Arabella, looking approvingly from mother to daughter. "You'll keep her head on straight, even if her father tries to spoil her rotten."

"Hey!" protested Ron. "I don't need to threaten my daughter to get her to behave."

"No, you just fill her up with sweets after dinner," retorted Hermione, patience wearing thin.

"Is Daddy in trouble?"

"Daddies don't get in trouble," said Ron, shooting Hermione a quelling look.

"Is Daddy going to be spanked?"

"Daddy won't be spanked, silly," said Ron.

"Daddy won't be getting much of anything tonight," said Hermione with a scowl.

"I'll be good," said Rose, clearly in awe of her mother.

"That's my sweet little Rose," said Hermione, squatting awkwardly to hug and kiss her daughter. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mummy."

Ron held out his arms to his daughter. "Got one more for your old dad?"

While Ron kissed Rose and gave her a Hungarian Belly Rub that made her shriek with laughter, Hermione showed Mrs. Figg the locations of their medical potions, first aid kits, and food supplies, and emergency contact information, both Magical and Muggle.

"I'm afraid Ron filled her up with sugar tonight, so it's probably a good idea to have her brush her teeth again before you put her to bed. Watch her when she brushes to make sure she uses the timer-"

"They're only baby teeth," commented Ron, carrying his still giggling daughter into the kitchen. "They'll only fall out in a few years, anyway."

"Good brushing habits last a lifetime, Ron. If you'd had a tooth brushing timer when you were a child, maybe you'd have fewer fillings yourself. And don't even get me started on your flossing."

"You don't have to worry," cut in Arabella. "I've done this before, you know. And as clever as your little Rose is, she hasn't the talent for trouble that Harry had. Or that little hellion of his, for that matter. Thank goodness Charlie's visiting, otherwise I don't think the Potters could have found anyone qualified to watch him."

Hermione glanced around the kitchen. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

"I'm sure Arabella has everything under control," said Ron, setting Rose down and wrapping his arms around Hermione, fingertips gently rubbing her belly. "C'mon, Hermione, we'll take a walk in the garden until the carriage arrives."

Hermione disentangled herself from her husband and turned to Arabella. "We should be back no later than eight o'clock tomorrow morning- much earlier if we can get away with it," said Hermione, following Ron and Arabella toward the back door.

"So early? I hear the Malfoys have ordered enough food to feed all of Hogwarts for a month."

"The invitation says that the ball will end at noon the following day, but we're only there to lend an air of legitimacy to the whole proceedings."

"Draco talked her into it," said Ron, grabbing Hermione's wrap and leading her to the door. "Whinged her into it is more like."

"Then I wonder that you're even going at all," said Arabella, with a significant glance at Hermione's stomach.

"There's no danger to us," said Hermione. "Lucius and Narcissa won't dare try anything at the risk of spoiling what little reputation they have."

"And I've threatened George with telling mum if he puts anything in the punch bowl," added Ron.

Arabella shook her head. "How on earth did that hoodlum manage to get invited?"

"He's the latest notch on Gwenog Jones's bat," said Hermione, fishing their masks out of her beaded bag.

Arabella blinked. "What does your mother have to say about that?"

Ron grinned. "She doesn't know. That's what I've threatened him with." He straightened his mask and turned to his wife. "Will I shame us tonight, d'you think?"

Though Hermione could fault her husband on a great many things, his appearance was not one of them. His fine wool tunic was trimmed with rich gold embroidery at the hem and sleeves and, at Hermione's urging, he'd hung a quill at his waist in lieu of wearing a sword.

To disguise his identity, he had darkened his bright ginger hair to a dark auburn. He'd also imbibed a 24-hour Beard Beverage, which he'd also darkened and trimmed neatly. While Hermione was not keen to kiss a bearded face every day, she had to admit that the beard made Ron look distinguished, and the golden mask he wore added to the air of pomp and authority.

She figured that alone would confuse anyone.

"You look a far sight more handsome than Peter Abelard ever did."

Ron grinned. "Yeah? Bet I smell better, too."

The sound of shattering crockery came from the kitchen, quickly followed by what sounded like a drawer full of silverware clattering to the ground.

Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You didn't leave the sweet jar out on the counter again, did you?"

Arabella turned to Ron and Hermione. "Off you get. Leave this to Auntie Arabella. ROSE! You naughty thing, what have you done?"

Arabella hustled into the kitchen after Rose. Ron held the door open, and Hermione stalked out into the garden. Suddenly, Ron was behind her, his hands rubbing her belly and his hardening arousal pressed into her buttocks.

"I love you like this," he whispered. "Round, soft, and ripe, like a peach."

She pulled away from him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"The carriage won't be here for at least fifteen minutes," he said fumbling with his costume. "There's plenty of time."

"No. I'm angry with you."

"Then we'll have make-up sex." Ron spread his fur-lined cape on the grass.

"For the last time, no! You're not going to sweet talk your way out of what you did with Rose tonight."

"Hermione, why are you making a big deal out of this? A few extra Every-Flavor Beans never hurt a kid. Well, except for the kid that got a Broken Glass flavored bean, but George probably started that rumor to boost sales of his Thousand-Taste Tarts."

"It just feels like every time I make a rule I have to keep an eye on both of you to make sure it's followed."

"Well, then maybe you're making too many rules. Me and Harry never followed the timetables you made for us, and we turned out alright."

"That's different. Rose is only three. All she understands is that mummy is mean and daddy is nice, and I'm sick of being the mean one. Being a parent means making rules and sticking to them, not just playing around with her and giving her to me when she's hungry, tired, or needs to be punished."

Ron's face had assumed the long-suffering expression that made Hermione want to throw another shoe at him. "I don't want to fight about this, Hermione. You bring it up every time we argue about Rose."

"Then perhaps you should do something about it other than roll your eyes when I bring it up. I'm trying to have a rational discussion about discipline."

"Why do you want to discuss it now? I just wanted to go out tonight and have a good time. I thought that's what you wanted, too."

With a Herculean effort, Hermione wrestled her irritation into submission and spoke calmly. "This isn't just about Rose, Ron. You may have the luxury of forgetting that we're going to have another baby very soon, but I don't. Rose has already learned to go to daddy if she wants something she knows mummy won't let her have. All I ask is that you try to act like a parent with Rose, even on Halloween."

"Samhain," corrected Ron.

"What?"

"Samhain. Only Muggles call it Halloween."

"They called it Halloween at Hogwarts."

"That's because Dumbledore was in charge. We're going to a pureblood gathering tonight, so you should call it Samhain."

"You expect me to change my vocabulary so a bunch of toffee-nosed purebloods won't cluck their tongues? I'm Muggle-born. They'll cluck their tongues anyway."

"I'm just saying it's manners is all! You don't go to someone's house for a ball and behave like some sort of -"

"Muggle?"

Ron threw his hands in the air. "I can't say anything tonight, can I?"

"Apparently not. Look, I'm in a horrid mood and I have to be sociable for hours with people I can't stand. Let's just don't talk for a while, okay?"

"Fine," said Ron, practically stomping across the garden. To Hermione's irritation, he'd sat on the stone bench, which was the only proper seat in the garden.

Scowl deepening, Hermione propped her hands on her hips and leaned back to relieve the pressure on her lower back.

She walked over to the gazing orb that Harry had given her as a joke birthday gift. Her upside-down reflection's proportions were even more grotesquely shaped than what she saw in her looking glass, and the cumulous clouds that partially obscured full moon's light were compressed, like a heat-twisted negative of the daytime sky.

The unseasonably hot, humid evening was far too warm for the fur-lined wraps Hermione had made for them. The weather was just one more thing conspiring with the Malfoys to make her miserable. Beneath the wool overdress, her linen shift was already starting to stick to her skin. She fervently wished for a breeze to stir the still air.

But before she could draw her wand to perform a Cooling Charm, there was a breeze lifting the veil on her hair and swirling deliciously up her skirt and between her hot thighs. She inhaled gratefully, noting the air's chilly edge and the unmistakable smell of rain. Fallen leaves followed the wind, clattering down the cobblestone path, where her husband stood, frowning at the air.

"Will it rain, d'you reckon?"

"Probably." The change in subject was as close as Hermione would receive by way of apology, and it was enough to quench the worst of her ire. The wind had picked up, whining softly through the clipped hedges. "The Malfoys ordered it, likely, just to see everyone arrive at their house in wet costumes before offering Drying Charms. I already cast Impervius on our costumes for spills. We ought to be all right unless there's a real downpour."

"Do you want to go back inside?"

Hermione glanced back at the warm yellow light that shone from the windows of their house and shook her head. "This is the first time today I haven't been too hot."

"Well, don't catch a chill. Mum'll have my head if I let you get sick."

The sound of faraway hoof beats distracted her from her lecturing Ron on cold viruses. Frowning, she glanced at the pocket watch that she'd sewn into the lining of her bag. It was still before eight. If that was their carriage to the Malfoy's, she and Ron would be among the earliest arrivals, if not the first.

_You have to hand it to the Malfoys_, she thought. _When they try to make you feel miserable and awkward, they don't do it by halves._

TWOOFCUPSSPUCFOOWT

The rolling clouds parted to reveal the full moon, casting the carving on the stone into stark relief. The nearby sea roared a constant exhalation, and two cloaked figures stood silently, waiting.

At length, a third figure appeared with a loud crack. If the others were startled, they did not betray it with so much as a twitch. The newcomer withdrew an ancient, stained piece of cloth from her robe and laid it on the stone.

"_Are you prepared?"_ she asked in a strange, mellifluous tongue.

"_We stand ready,_ " answered the two in unison, taking their positions around the stone.

"_Are you determined?" _

"_Our hands join to form the circle_." Inhumanly long and bony fingers protruded from black sleeves, threading together.

"_Have you the strength?" _

"_Our own, and yours, if you wish it." _

"_I wish it,"_ she responded. She withdrew a silver knife from her robe and made a shallow cut on each of her wrists. She extended her hands and allowed several drops of blood to fall on the stone."_With this blood, I seal his sacrifice." _

"_With this blood, the sacrifice is sealed."_

She raised her hands, thin streams of blood black in the moonlight, and laid her hands on the cowled heads of her companions. _"With these words, let his bonds be broken. " _

"_Rend them, tear them, break them."_

The three began to sing, their tone rising and falling, sometimes separately, sometimes chorally, sometimes at such discordant intervals that the air seemed to tremble. The chilling wind rose, bringing with it the smell of salt and eroded earth. As their song reached its zenith, the cabal raised their hands to the sky, uttering a harsh, guttural cry. A blinding flash of light followed by a deafening crack of thunder rent the night, throwing them backwards onto the ground.

The third figure's cowl had been blown off, revealing her face, contorted in pain and determination. Her companions had managed to sit up, shaken but unhurt.

"_Where is he_?" one asked, disappointment evident in his wrinkled brow.

She whipped her hand toward her interlocutor, and his head was jerked back, as if slapped.

"_Do not ask stupid questions,"_ she ordered sternly. "_Can you not see that the remnants of his bondage are gone? Remain silent during your vigil."_

"_What if the ritual failed?"_ he persisted.

"_He will come_," croaked the other, who was leaning against the stone. "_He will rise. He will be truly free_."

"_We shall have our leader, and we shall have our revenge_," she finished. "_I must go. There is much to be done to prepare for tonight. Bring him to me at the manor when he rises, and I will tell him of our preparations for tonight. Once our plans have been set in motion, we will reveal him to the others. He will lead us all down the path we have laid for him."_

The others nodded, silent. Satisfied, she disappeared with a loud crack.

The first raindrops spattered the drops of blood, and soon all of it had been washed into the red earth below.

TWOOFCUPSSPUCFOOWT


	2. Chapter 2

See Chapter One for disclaimer

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

Chapter Two: Five of Wands

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

"Gracious!" exclaimed Narcissa, distastefully taking the waterlogged invitation from Hermione. "What on earth happened to you?"

Hermione wrung out the hem of her costume, deliberately making a muddy puddle on the Malfoys' hand-knotted rug. "You sent an open-topped carriage for us, and it started raining. An Impervius Charm only goes so far, particularly when the carriage drops one off at the end of the lane instead of at the front door."

"An oversight, I assure you," cut in their host, his dismay even more convincingly feigned than his wife's. Both were clad in dressing robes that concealed their costumes, appearing for all the world as if they hadn't sent their own coach to make Hermione and Ron unfashionably early.

Narcissa sniffed. "The enchanted barouche has been reserved for family use for so long that I'd completely forgotten its dislike for those whose, ah, acquaintance it hasn't made, particularly those not of old family."

"I'm an old family," said Ron, whose chest-puffing would have been more effective had he not been wrapped in sodden wool. "And so's she. I married her, didn't I?"

"Ah ah ah!" admonished Lucius. "It would be wise to get out of the habit of referring to yourselves in your own persons. Tonight you shall be known as- ah- who is it you're supposed to be?"

"Abelard and Heloise," said Hermione through gritted teeth. "Two tragic lovers from the eleventh century."

"Was the tragedy that Heloise didn't know the Contraceptus charm?" asked Narcissa, all innocent curiosity.

"They were Muggles," put in Ron, helpfully. "He wrote about the church, I think, and she was his muse."

"She does rather resemble a piece of Gothic architecture, now that you mention it," commented Narcissa.

Hermione just managed to keep from hexing the smug look from her hostess's face, but it was a very near thing.

"But where are our manners!" exclaimed Lucius. "Taddy!" A house-elf appeared at his elbow. "See that our guests are dried and made comfortable while we finish dressing."

"That won't be necessary," said Hermione angrily, withdrawing her wand.

"Ah ah ah!" exclaimed Narcisssa. "No wands allowed! We can't have the threat of harm occurring in our household, especially around one so advanced in her delicate condition. You'd think you'd never been to a Wizard's ball before!" She gave a trilling laugh that reminded Hermione unaccountably of Bellatrix.

Hermione caught her husband's eye. He was nodding his head vigorously.

"May Taddy take your bag as well as your wand?

Seething, Hermione stuck her wand into her bag, discreetly activating several nasty hexes for anyone other than her or Ron who attempted to open it, and handed it to the house-elf.

"If Mister Abelard and Missus Heloise would come with Taddy?"

"Take as much time as you need," Lucius called after them. "As you can see, you are the first to arrive."

Hermione didn't trust herself to respond. They followed the house-elf around an enormous hardwood dance floor where a band called Mr. Pointy and the Vampire Bats was tuning up and into a private sitting room, where a tea service and plate of biscuits waited by a crackling fire.

Taddy snapped his fingers, and Hermione and Ron were suddenly dry. "If Mister Abelard or Missus Heloise requires anything else from Taddy, be ringing the bell."

"That will do, Taddy," said Hermione, much relieved to see several comfortable-looking chairs. "Please let us know when Harry Potter arrives."

"Taddy is sorry, Missus Heloise, but Master and Mistress say that Toddy may only use costume names until the unmasking."

"Fine," said Ron. "Bring us some cocoa while you're here."

Taddy snapped his fingers, and a silver pot of cocoa appeared next to the biscuit tray.

"Thank you, Taddy."

"Yah, fanks 'addy!" said Ron, whose mouth was already filled with chocolate biscuit.

The elf somehow managed to bow disapprovingly and disappeared with a soft pop.

"Have I mentioned that I hate the Malfoys?"

"It was your idea to come tonight, Hermione."

"Have I mentioned that I hate it when you're right?"

"Dunno. It's never happened before," said Ron, pouring himself a cup of cocoa.

"Well, you more than made up for it by not telling me that no wands were allowed."

"I thought you knew. You know just about everything about Wizarding culture nowadays. Haven't you read up on what these things are supposed to be like?"

"Oh gosh, Ron, I've been so selfishly pursuing legal reforms and introducing basic concepts of justice to Magical Law Enforcement. I really ought to have been reading up on arcane and largely useless social niceties on the off chance that I ever get invited to a pureblood's ball!"

"No need to get shirty with me, Hermione. I was just asking."

"So what else do you know about balls that I ought to know?"

Ron stuck his hand between his legs. "They're awfully hard after seeing you in that wet dress."

Hermione scowled at him. "Don't be disgusting, Ron!"

"Well, they are! What better way to get the Malfoys back for acting all superior than to dirty up their sitting room a bit?"

Hermione paused, taking in the sofa's tasteful grey-blue silk upholstery and imagining her gorgeously costumed husband squirming and moaning on top of it while underneath her. It was very nearly enough to override her sense of decorum.

"It's a bad idea, Ron. We can't cast any silencing or locking charms without our wands. Anybody could walk in."

"C'mon, Hermione. Are you going to make me walk around with this great stiffie all night?"

"You'd do that anyway. I know what the sight of women in costumes does to you."

Ron's ears were red again. "It'll be discreet if I do you standing behind the sofa. I can say I'm giving you a backrub if anyone comes in, since they won't be able to see above our waists."

"You're not exactly quiet during sex, Ron. They might think I was trying to murder you or something."

Ron nipped at the nape of her neck, which made her shudder. "Any fellow'd love to go that way."

At that moment, the band struck up a quiet jazzy number that sounded slightly familiar to Hermione. At her lack of protest, Ron lifted the back of her skirt with one hand and wrapped his arm beneath her protruding midsection, pulling her tight against him. His erection twitched beneath the layers of wool and cotton. Even now, the concrete evidence of his desire for her flooded her with warmth.

"All right," she gasped as his other hand slid up the bodice to gently tweak her sensitive nipple.

"Merlin," groaned Ron, swearing as he tried to release his erection from the costume. He finally managed to throw the bottom of his tunic over his arm, exposing himself for a moment before bearing down into his wife.

They both gasped at his entry, and he began thrusting erratically. "Hermione!" Ron groaned, running his hands over her belly and buttocks. "Merlin, I've been wanting this all day."

"Mmm, Ron," she replied, trying to figure out the best way to stimulate herself while no part of his anatomy was anywhere near her clitoris. She settled for squeezing her thighs together and rubbing against the back of the sofa. His thrusts were quick and short, each punctuated by a soft grunt. He slid his hand up and squeezed her breast, which caused her to gasp in pain.

However, Ron didn't interpret it as such. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, hands squeezing both breasts so hard she cried out.

"Aughh! Let go!" Thankfully, he did, and dug his fingers into the back of the sofa.

"I'm gonna-!"

Hermione screwed up her mouth in concentration, but no matter how hard she squeezed him inside while rubbing up against the sofa, she wasn't going to make it. Her breasts were still throbbing from his ill usage.

With an inarticulate cry, Ron thrust into her hard and deep, spilling himself inside her. Hermione was bent over the sofa, feeling the last twitches of her husband's orgasm subside, when he collapsed dramatically over her, resting on her back.

He kissed her neck. "That was brilliant."

"Ow! For God's sake, get up! Damn it, how many times do I have to tell you that breasts aren't squeeze toys, especially now!"

Instead of answering or apologizing, he withdrew from her suddenly, causing fluid to trickle messily down her legs. This was the final straw. "Ron! You might have warned me! I don't have my wand, remember? I can't just Evanesco this away!"

"Shhh!" said Ron, quickly lowering his bliaud. "There's someone at the door."

To her dismay, he was right. A pair of shoes was blocking the light at the base of the closed door, and they weren't moving. Someone was listening, if not looking through the keyhole.

"Give me your handkerchief," she hissed.

"You expect me to wipe my nose on it after you've got all that mess on it?"

"Sod off, Ron," said Hermione, at the end of her patience. She yanked the handkerchief from his sleeve and set to cleaning herself- an awkward task when bending at the waist was so difficult.

"Why are you mad as a milk-fed Knarl? You told me orgasms helped with your back."

"MY orgasms, you great pillock!"

"Didn't you have one?"

"No, I bloody well didn't! Generally, the odds are greater that a woman will achieve orgasm when her comfort is remotely considered by the partner," spat Hermione.

"All I bloody think about is you when we're having sex," exclaimed Ron angrily.

"No, all you bloody think about is what gets you off! I've had it, Ron! As of tonight, your selfish cock is denied earthly paradise until you perform some serious penance, preferably in the form of highly skilled cunnilingus, on which I have a number of highly informative books with very simple illustrations. That's oral sex. On me," she clarified, at his look of confusion.

Ron's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why do you have books about that?"

"Because I'm secretly a lesbian. Honestly, Ron, did you ejaculate your brains as well? I read up on female genitals because I'm female!"

"Hermione, just calm down. You're getting upset over nothing."

"True, I am upset over a decided lack of something."

"Sorry?"

She made an exasperated hiss. "Never mind. Here's your handkerchief. All the wet is probably yours, anyway."

"Keep it," said Ron with a scowl. "I'm going to go find Harry."

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare walk out that door!"

"Why not? Afraid of not having anyone to yell at? I don't want to be your whipping boy tonight."

"I didn't want to be your butt boy tonight either. I guess neither of us is getting what we want tonight. Except you, and I'm already regretting that."

"I hate it when you get mad like this. Your voice gets all shrill, and you get all red and sweaty."

"If the only time you see her shrieking, red, and sweaty is when she's yelling at you, then you're definitely doing something wrong."

Hermione and Ron spun around to find the door wide open and Severus Snape smirking at them from beneath a black silk domino.

Hermione gaped. From the over-large nose to the impeccably tailored black teaching robes, it was unmistakably him. She could even make out the scarring on his neck where Nagini had attacked him the last time she had seen him.

"How - ?" Hermione began.

Ron let out a loud guffaw. "Brilliant!" he said in an admiring tone. "You even sound just like him." He approached Snape and looked him squarely in the eye. "It's bloody fantastic! Did you use Polyjuice? Must have been some pretty old hair if you did."

Snape ignored Ron and turned to Hermione. "Lucius sent me to fetch you. They've started receiving guests, and they'd like you be announced."

"No thanks," said Hermione, with a quelling look at her husband. "As you can see, I'm in no condition to be ascending or descending stairs with impunity. I think we'll just mingle tonight."

"As you wish, Miss Granger. Pardon, Mrs. Weasley."

"It's Ms. Granger, actually," said Hermione.

Ron slung his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Well, now that you've tricked my wife into properly cocking up our secret identities, what say you give us a hint about yours?"

"All in good time. If you're determined not to have an entrance, I shall go make your apologies to our host and hostess. Good evening, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger."

"She's Heloise tonight," said Ron, "and I'm Abelard."

Snape's eyes flicked to Ron's groin, then met Hermione's. She was surprised to see a spark of humor dancing in their depths. "That would explain a great deal," he said blandly, turning to leave.

Hermione giggled as Snape closed the door behind him. "Perhaps he's right."

Ron looked at his wife suspiciously. "What?"

"If I wanted great sex, I shouldn't have dressed you as a eunuch."

"WHAT?"

Hermione's frustration flared again. "Did you even read the history I gave you?"

"Abelard was a eunuch? How'd he manage to get Heloise pregnant?"

"Abelard was made a eunuch by Heloise's uncle because he got her pregnant," said Hermione. "Too bad you didn't make any objections at a time when I could have changed our costumes."

"We'll just tell people we're King Arthur and Guinevere" said Ron.

"The costumes are clearly French. We've already been introduced to our host and hostess as Abelard and Heloise," pointed out Hermione. "Besides, you haven't got a sword."

"How could you DO this to me, Hermione?" exclaimed Ron. "I'll never hear the end of it!"

"Nobody looking at me could call your virility into question," said Hermione waspishly. "And Peter Abelard was much more than a eunuch. He was one of the great thinkers of his age, a theological prodigy, and one of the most handsome, sought-after men in Paris."

Ron looked slightly mollified. "You still ought to have told me."

"It's not my fault you couldn't be arsed to read the three very short paragraphs in which I summed up Abelard's life and most enduring works."

Ron glanced at himself in the mirror. "I guess it's okay. It's not like anyone here is going to know who we are, anyway."

"Professor Snape did."

"It isn't really Snape. It's probably Neville dressed as the scariest thing he could think of."

"I know that," said Hermione. "Look, I'm starting to get tired. Why don't you go get us some punch and let me know if anyone we know has arrived yet."

"Good idea," said Ron, absently stroking his beard. "Er, are you still mad at me?"

Hermione absently picked up a teaspoon from the tray and tapped it against her palm. "Furious. You'd better leave before I start yelling again."

Ron didn't need to be told twice. When the door closed behind him, Hermione sank down onto the loveseat with a sigh. It was a marvelous piece of furniture, and its overstuffed arms felt as if it had been designed specifically to support a pregnant woman's back.

She pulled her thick plait forward over her shoulder and leaned back with a moan, back muscles relaxing for the first time in days. Exhaling, she leaned back even further until her head was tilted back over the arm. When she opened her eyes, she found herself gazing at the far side of the room upside-down.

It was a curious sensation to perceive a carpeted ceiling and a bookshelf that seemed to float above the plaster floor, when she knew it to be the reverse. She smiled, remembering a prank she'd played on her father as a child, handing him a book wrongways and claiming, straight faced, that it had been printed upside-down by mistake.

It was a pretty bookshelf- slightly pinkish beech wood with an inset foot that made it seem like it was floating above the baseboard. It was filled with volumes in jewel-toned leather bindings. Bibliophilia getting the better of her, Hermione eased herself out of her stretch, struggled to her feet and slid an emerald-colored volume from the shelf. She examined the titles on the books' spines and shook her head.

Apparently, some sixteenth century Malfoy had practiced law and amassed volumes upon volumes of domestic and international Wizarding statutes written in the driest, least imaginative Latin she had ever had the displeasure of reading. It was, without a doubt, the dullest book she'd ever read- and that was saying something. Stifling a yawn, she returned it to its shelf, pushing it forcefully between the other volumes so that it hit the back of the bookcase with a thump.

She was surprised to hear the thump echo faintly.

Intrigued, she partially removed a second volume and shoved it back into the shelf. Again, the muffled echo. She walked to the side of the bookcase and grinned to find that its kick plate was about a centimeter above the floor.

She'd found a secret door.

Hermione surveyed the bookshelf's immediate vicinity, seeking a means to open the door. The wall sconce, the likes of which opened every hidden door she'd seen in films, didn't budge. After attempting to pull forward every volume on the shelf in hopes of opening the door, Hermione gave up. It was probably required a password for entry, anyway.

Hermione poured herself a cup of cocoa and wandered over to the picture window, which was enchanted not to transmit the sound of the rain pounding against it. When lightning flashed, she could just make out twelve carriages- all with closed tops, she noted with irritation- queuing in the lane to be emptied at the front entrance. The thunder was a soft rumble through the charmed glass, barely audible over the music and conversation in the next room.

She lowered herself into the window seat, dreading the small talk she'd be forced to make once she entered the ballroom. The band was covering a Celestina Warbeck tune- the one about love being like an Entrail-Expelling Curse. Staying in the sitting room all evening was seeming like a better idea. Lightning split the night again, the blinding bolt illuminating the low ceiling of rainclouds and turning the world outside black and white. Hermione could make out the tiny figures of the house-elves assisting cloaked revelers out of their carriages. It still rankled that nobody gave the house-elves so much as a glance for their assistance.

The door opened and she turned to find a curious something standing, or rather, squatting in the doorway. It was apelike in appearance and seemed to be covered from head to foot with silky strands of bright orange fur, which obscured its face and body shape.

"Oh, hi, Hermione," it said in a dreamy female voice

"Luna? What on earth?"

"I'm a Demiguise," she explained, pulling the fur aside to reveal her blue eyes.

"I thought Demiguises were a bit more- er- neutral colored."

"A common myth," said Luna earnestly. "My field research has concluded that Demiguises don't actually turn invisible. Their fur actually has the ability to turn the same color as its environment, so they only seem invisible!"

"So why the orange?"

"Simple: someone always comes to fancy dress functions dressed as an orangutan. I figured if I could find that person and stand next to them, it would appear like I was really changing color like the Demiguise."

Hermione smiled at her friend, but she knew it didn't reach her eyes.

Luna sat down next to her on the window seat. "You're tired."

"And grouchy."

"It seems silly to come to a party when you're tired and grouchy, unless you're dressed up as Severus Snape, like that fellow who told me you were in here."

"I'm inclined to agree."

"Oh good, I'll help you change your costume, then. You'll make a much more accurate Snape if you make it clear that Snape was attacked by a flock of Winksquifflers."

Hermione stared at Luna. "What?"

"It's a theory of Daddy's that he's written about in this week's Quibbler. It goes like this: Severus Snape was Dumbledore's spy and a potions master, right?"

"Right," said Hermione, wondering where this conversation was headed.

"So he would have known that Nagini posed a threat to him. He would have built up an immunity to her venom or have an antidote on hand, maybe even a bezoar, thus allowing him to survive the snakebite. However, the bite weakened him, so when he stumbled out of the hidden tunnel, he was ravaged the Winksquifflers that nest in the Whomping Willow."

"But Professor Snape died from blood loss. I saw him die."

"You saw what he wanted you to see," said Luna matter-of-factly. "He even said on the first day of class that he could put a stopper in death."

"So, Professor Snape died from these winksthingees."

"Winksquifflers," corrected Luna, "and no, they attacked him, but he didn't die. Daddy thinks Professor Snape left the wizarding world to star in an international tour of 'Phantom of the Opera,' but I'm trying to get him to leave that part out. It can't possibly be true."

"It can't?"

"Of course not. Professor Snape was a baritone, not a tenor."

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand. "I see."

Luna's fur had fallen into her face again. "Unless Daddy means that Professor Snape was playing the female lead. That could actually happen, especially given the side effects of Winksquiffler bites."

Hermione gave up the fight to control her mirth and embraced her friend. "I'm so glad you're here, Luna."

"Thank Neville, he's the one who invited me. He and Hannah are on the outs again, and I already had this Demiguise costume from my field research."

"You expected to blend in with someone in an orangutan costume while in the field?"

"No, silly!" said Luna with a laugh. "The costume is normally purple."

"I'll bite. Why is it normally purple?"

"Because it's a color that Demiguises never are. I thought the novelty would attract them."

Hermione just managed to keep from spraying now-cool cocoa on the Malfoy's carpet. "Would you like to go back in to the party? They'll probably send someone after us if we're too much longer."

"I suppose," said Luna, "though I'll have to come back in here later. When I told Narcissa Malfoy about my costume, she said she hoped I'd disappear often, and I'd hate to disappoint her. Here, let me help you up."

Hermione was about to wave off the proffered hands but thought better of it. However, Luna's vigorous tug threw her off balance, and she stumbled into a marble wet bar on the wall near the picture window, stubbing her slippered foot on something below the boot rail.

There was a soft grinding sound from the wall, and once she had recovered her balance, she was surprised to see that she'd somehow triggered the secret door.

The two women approached the aperture together, and Hermione was shocked to see a house-elf cowering in the tiny room behind the bookcase, and not just any house-elf.

"Winky? Is that you?"

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF


	3. Chapter 3

See Chapter One for disclaimer

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Chapter Three: Ace of Cups

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"Winky? Is that you?"

"Winky is sorry!" cried the elf. "Winky is sorry!"

"What for?" asked Luna.

"Winky is not supposed to be seen. Winky is to remain hidden! Bad Winky!" she said, twisting her ear viciously. "Winky does not deserve this chance to serve an old family. Winky deserves payment at Hogwarts!"

"Winky, stop punishing yourself. Do you work for the Malfoys now?"

"Winky will not stop punishing herself! Mistress says Winky only takes orders from her tonight, and Mistress said not to be seen or heard."

"It was an accident," said Hermione. "You had no idea I would open the door."

"Now missus and miss know Hogwarts elves is serving. You will tell Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"She doesn't know you're here?"

"Headmistress makes house-elves take payment. If elves refuse, she puts the money in Gringotts to build interest, making our shame greater. We is visiting old families on required 'days off' and doing work to earn our honor back."

"We won't tell," assured Luna.

Winky gave Hermione a suspicious look. "Missus tried to free the house-elves."

"That was years ago. I won't tell, and I won't leave any hats or socks for you."

Winky glared at her, mistrust evident in every line of her scowl.

"I still want house-elves to be free," clarified Hermione, "but you taught me that change needs to come from other elves, not from me."

Winky howled suddenly. "Missus mustn't say such things!"

Luna had stuck her head inside the secret room.

"What's this place?"

Winky turned. "House-elves is using the passage between walls to move around unseen."

Luna looked interested "Can't house-elves just disappear and reappear?"

"Yes, but the further the elf is being from his destination, the noisier the arrival sound. Great masters and mistresses don't want guests to be startled by noise, so they make houses with passages. Elves is using the passages to get close to the people they serve. When they is called, they is entering silently."

"Doesn't it get crowded with both house-elves and Gnoolies in the walls?"

The elf's forehead wrinkled. "Winky doesn't understand."

"You know, Gnoolies. Daddy says they make the champagne bottles float at parties. They know he knows about them, so they always float away any time he tries to get a drink."

"Winky thinks miss is mistaken-" began the elf, twisting her ear.

"Yes, thank you, Winky," said Hermione quickly, attempting to forestall the conversation. "Your secret is safe with us. Would you like us to close the passage again?"

"If missus pleases to be leaving it open," said Winky, curtsying. "Winky has work to do in the sitting room. If misses would be so kind as to be closing the door to the ballroom, Winky will lock it behind them so nobody else will be seeing Winky clean."

"All right," said Luna. "I think you're going to like this party," she said, turning to Hermione. "There are some beautiful costumes, even a Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Really?" asked Hermione, opening the door for her friend.

"Well, it's a Snorkack that's seen better days," admitted Luna. "It's slightly deformed- there's a horn on the end of its nose instead of its head, and its other horn has been knocked off, probably fighting over a female. It even looks like it's suffering from the Magical Mange, since all its fur has fallen off."

"You don't think it might be an Erumpent costume?" asked Hermione gently.

"No, I can tell by the horn. It looks exactly like the one that the Death Eaters destroyed when they blew up Daddy's old house."

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When the door to the sitting room had closed behind the two women, Winky waved her hand to lock it. She Vanished the chocolate pot and crockery with a snap of her fingers, then swept her arm in a wide arc. Across the room, throw pillows fluffed themselves and snapped to attention, the books Hermione had displaced slid into perfect alignment, and a flurry of biscuit crumbs flew up into the air and disappeared.

She stroked the cushion of the window seat and gazed out into the black night, then frowned at the smudge on the window. She climbed up on the window seat and rubbed at the smudge with her tea towel, since most cleansing spells left streaks on enchanted glass.

Lightning flashed and Winky squeaked in surprise to see a cloaked figure a foot from her on the other side of the glass. She took an instinctive step backwards, forgetting that she was on a raised surface, and fell clumsily to the floor.

The figure glided forward, passing through the glass of the window as if it were merely vapor and stood before the fallen elf.

It raised its skeletal hand and pulled a tattered piece of fabric from its robes and held it out to her.

Winky's eyes, already wide, were the size of saucers as she stared up at him. Tentatively, she reached out a hand toward the apparition before her and took the cloth, turning it over carefully in her hands. She gasped.

"_You know me,"_ he said, laying a hand on her head. _"There is much to be done tonight, and much complicated magic."_

"Master's will is mine," said Winky, bowing deeply.

"_I will wait for you in the gallery to discuss tonight's plans,"_ he said. _"I trust I need not tell you to keep my presence from the other elves, at least for now."_

"No, master," said Winky. "I will be telling no other elves."

"_You will be rewarded for your service."_

"Master is kind."

"_There is no kind master but me,"_ he said, an edge creeping into his voice.

Winky bowed low, and he swept past her into the open passageway, fading quickly from sight.

Blinking suddenly, Winky looked around her and tsked at the wet footprints in the carpet. These she vanished with a wave of her hand, then gave the room a final inspection. Satisfied, she stepped into the passageway and snapped her fingers to unlock the sitting room door and closed the secret doorway behind her.

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Hermione stared in astonishment at the opulent scene before her. When they'd first arrived, the ballroom had seemed empty and cavernous. Now it was filled with conversation, music, and people. Hermione had thought Bill and Fleur's wedding had been rather grand, but this gathering redefined the word.

The ball shared a few similarities with the wedding- there were bottles of champagne bobbing through the crowd, but here, there were also floating bottles containing every beverage she could think of. Instead of uniformed waiters, trays of delectable hors d'ouevres floated alongside the bottles, presumably to indicate recommended pairings of food and drink.

"Oh look!" exclaimed Luna, pointing at a champagne bottle. "The Gnoolies are here already! I'm going to catch one for Daddy!"

Without waiting for a reply, Luna loped off after a champagne bottle that was refilling glasses along the edge of the room. The ballroom was lined with dark velvet chaises, sofas, divans, and benches, interspersed with marble tables, all in sober and elegant contrast to the rickety golden chairs the Weasleys had hired. The tables held vases filled with exotic flowers, which were subtly lit with fairies. The ceiling too was filled with hundreds of glowing fairies, who swirled around the crystal chandeliers, suffusing the surroundings with a flattering half light.

On Hermione's right, an impossibly long buffet table was decked with sumptuous fruits, pastries in precipitous and fantastic shapes, cheeses that gleamed beneath crystal domes, seafood on ice, and preserved meats in paper-thin slices.

All aspects of the gathering spoke of wealth, privilege, and impeccable taste, but what took Hermione's breath away was the swirl of costumed men and women who flashed and sparkled in every color of the rainbow, faces obscured by masks both beautiful and grotesque. Skulls grinned, fools leered, and beasts of every description swept past her as the music pulsed intoxicatingly, and she found herself stepping onto the dance floor as if in a dream.

Suddenly, her foot slipped out from underneath her, and she started to fall, only to have her fall arrested by two strong arms under hers.

"Really, Ms. Gr- rather, Heloise," admonished a warm voice in her ear, "you ought to know better than to cross the dance floor alone."

Embarrassed and angry, Hermione pulled her arm from her rescuer's grasp. "Thanks, but I've already got an escort."

The man dressed as Snape looked down his overlarge nose at her. "I'm well aware of that, madam. However, my keen powers of observation reveal that he is not at your side at present, and as our hostess has taken the rather old-fashioned liberty of charming the floor to repel ladies' shoes, you require an escort of a somewhat more immediate nature."

Hermione took an experimental step, and her foot slid erratically over the floor. "Why on earth would she do such a thing?"

"If you will permit me to demonstrate," said Snape. He tucked her hand inside his elbow and guided her across the floor. Once she had adjusted to having to depend on him for momentum, she realized that she was gliding gracefully across the floor at his side.

"Fascinating," she murmured. "It feels like ice skating. What does it feel like for you?"

"A normal, if heavily waxed wooden surface."

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder and tentatively pulled herself around to face him without removing her feet from the floor. "This seems rather chauvinistic."

Snape shrugged. "Men lead at formal dances. There's no need to see slights where none are intended. In fact, it's said that the slick floor tradition exists to prevent certain ladies from haranguing the dancing gentlemen."

"I suppose you're right. I'm certain Narcissa and Lucius can come up with far more precise snubs than this. Still, I should love to know the charm that was used. It's no small feat to make a charm gender-specific. Unless it's specific to certain styles of shoe."

"Would you care to examine the charm's physical properties further?" he asked, nodding his head at the band, which had started to play a waltz.

She hesitated, glancing around the room for any sign of her husband, then chastised herself. She was the injured party this evening. It would do him good to be jealous for a change. She smiled at Snape. "In the name of scientific inquiry," she agreed, putting her right hand in his left.

He placed his right hand on her left hip, and they were off. Hermione felt a wave of giddiness pass through her as she was swept around the floor, frictionless feet deliciously out of her control. For the first time in months, she didn't feel heavy with responsibility or pregnancy. She felt like she was flying.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out other couples on the dance floor as they spun by, blurred like brightly colored tops. She tossed her head backwards, laughing at the utter ridiculousness of feeling free within Snape's precise lead, clever hands communicating precisely which way he would move her and what she needed to do. All too soon, the waltz was over.

"Thank you, Heloise," he said, slightly breathless from their energetic dancing. "I hope your curiosity has been satisfied."

"The pleasure was mine, Professor Snape," she said with a cheeky grin. "Though I must protest one thing."

He turned to her quizzically.

"You're entirely too charming. The real Professor Snape would rather eat a flobberworm than be so kind and solicitous to me."

"I shall endeavor to be more cruel, if you wish it," he said, humor in his voice.

"No need to tax yourself, sir. The secret of your gentility is safe with me," she assured him. "I doubt Neville Longbottom could withstand the shock."

He smiled at her, an expression she could never have imagined on the real Snape's face, but one, she was surprised to note, that suited him well. The music had started again, a slow rumba, and he held out his hand to her. "Would you do me the honor?"

Hermione glanced doubtfully at the other couples, whose bodies were pressed tightly together as they swayed back and forth. "I don't know if I'm physically capable of a slow dance," she said, rubbing her belly regretfully.

"Nonsense," scoffed Snape. "Where's your spirit of scientific inquiry?"

Hermione lifted her chin defiantly and extended her right hand to him. "Then by all means, lead on."

Before she could blink, Snape had placed his right hip against hers, allowing Hermione's belly to graze his side, rotating her with him as he circled her. Then, he switched, left hips meeting, elbows raised formally, and Hermione found her eyes locked on his.

His lead was more fluid than it had been on the waltz, which had been a constant and dizzying spin within the music's strict time. This dance was sinuous and graceful, with twists of the shoulders and hips to mark the syncopations. Again, Hermione felt her body relax into his, her eyes drifting closed at one point, letting the music and his arms carry her through the dance.

Abruptly she felt a tap on her shoulder, causing her to lose her footing in surprise. Snape held her firmly, however, and she turned to find her husband standing behind her, his face stony.

"Mind if I cut in?"

"It's a bit unusual, but very well," said Snape, extending his hand to Ron.

"Not you, you git," exclaimed Ron. "Her!"

Snape bowed, mockingly, it seemed to Hermione, and placed her hand into her husband's. He practically dragged her off the dance floor, paying no attention to her struggle to remain upright. She stumbled gratefully when she stepped off the dance floor, and yanked her hand from Ron's grip.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"I won't be made a fool of," said Ron angrily.

"No, you're doing a fine job of that on your own," commented Ginny, who had walked over to him looking nearly as angry as Ron did. "It was just a dance. And if Hermione were ever going to cheat on you, it wouldn't be in the middle of the Malfoy's dance floor."

"It was two dances," said Ron doggedly. "And you didn't see the way he was leching all over her."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," said Hermione, feeling her cheeks flush. "And if you ever manhandle me that way again, so help me, Ron Weasley, you'll regret it." She turned to Ginny and was stunned to see her clad from neck to toe in a skintight dress covered with overlapping triangular paillets. Ginny's pregnancy was not quite as advanced as Hermione's, but her beaded belly could have passed for a fantastic accessory, which was, Hermione supposed, the point. Next to Ginny, she felt even plainer than she had before.

"You look fantastic, Gin, but what on earth are you supposed to be?"

Ginny's eyes twinkled from behind her mask. "Oh you'll understand when Harry gets back with the drinks." She turned to her brother. "Now, are you going to behave, or do we have to lock you in the sitting room? If you didn't want Hermione dancing with other men, you shouldn't have dressed as Guinevere and King Arthur."

Hermione glared at her husband. "You told them we were Arthur and Guinevere?"

"You mean you're not?" asked Ginny. "Who are you, then?"

Ron's ears were red. "Well, not originally-"

"What, did I miss all the excitement again?" Harry said, sticking his arm between Hermione and Ron as he handed his wife a cup of punch.

Ginny thanked him, and posed next to her husband.

Hermione gaped inarticulately at them for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Harry and Ginny were dressed as Voldemort and Nagini. The scale pattern on Ginny's dress was so clear now that Hermione felt silly for not having spotted it before. Harry's messy black hair and eyebrows were gone, he'd somehow narrowed his nostrils to slits, and his skin was deathly pale against his black robes. He'd even colored his eyes red for the occasion, but the lightning bolt scar still proudly claimed his real identity.

"Perfect," said Hermione admiringly, still giggling. "What did Lucius say?"

"He didn't say anything- neither did Narcissa," said Harry with a grin.

"I've never seen them look so affronted," added Ginny. "Honestly, it's been worth suffering their pretensions of respectability just to see them at a loss for polite words."

Hermione covered her mirth with her hand. "What's Draco going to say when he sees you?"

"He's going to say, 'Tacky, Potter. Utterly tasteless,'" came a slow drawling voice from behind them.

"Serves you right for inviting us on reputation alone," said Harry.

"We showed up in costume and smiled, but that's about all you can expect us to do, Draco," said Hermione unsympathetically, but not unkindly.

"Janus, woman! Janus!" corrected Draco, gesturing to the silver mask that covered his head entirely. There was a second face on the back as well, and both sets of lips moved with his. His voice had a sepulchral sound as it echoed within the helmet-like mask. "I didn't invite you just for your reputation, Potter. And no, I'm not going to call you 'my lord,' so shut it."

Ron snorted. "Isn't Janice a woman's name?"

Harry and Ginny turned laughs into coughs, which were decidedly less convincing when done in unison.

"He's a Roman god, Ron," said Hermione, embarrassed for her husband but determined not to show it. "A lesser god, but still a god."

"Everyone comes dressed as one of the greater gods," said Draco with a dramatic sigh. "It's as predictable as someone dressed as an orangutan."

"Where's Louise tonight?" asked Ginny politely.

"At home with Scorpius."

"You made us come but you let her stay at home?" asked Hermione.

"I don't have to live with you," said Draco. "Don't worry, I'll make it up to you later. Speaking of which, would you like to dance, Hermione?"

Hermione stomped on Ron's foot before he could protest. She only wished she were wearing heels.

"Love to, thanks," she said quickly, walking off with Draco.

Draco's lead was as decisive as Snape's had been, though his steps were simpler, and she didn't feel the fierce flare of excitement that she had before. She caught sight of Ron glaring at her from the edge of the dance floor.

"Gods, your husband is a rube," said Draco. "He shouldn't be allowed out of the house. Potter at least has some spunk to make up for his appalling manners."

"He'd probably burn down the house if I left him home with Rose," she replied.

"No halfhearted defense tonight? I'm shocked."

"You really don't want to know," said Hermione.

"I saw him drag you off the dance floor just now. Must have been humiliating," he added with relish.

"That's not even the worst thing. But I reiterate, you really don't want to know."

"You're a terrible tease."

"It's a kindness. I know you have a sensitive stomach."

"I had too much champagne once in my life, and you never let me forget it."

"It was our department's function, Draco. As your boss, it's my job never to let you forget it."

"I'm half tempted to get sloshed tonight to spice things up. Mother's balls are so frightfully dull."

"This one's been all right. Harry's and Ginny's entrance must have been fun."

"Mother was furious," said Draco approvingly. "And seeing Slughorn actually dressed as a walrus was a treat. McGonagall was with him dressed as some kind of tradesman, but I don't quite know why. But other than those, the costumes have been substandard, your lovely self excluded, of course."

"Of course," said Hermione. "I'm sure you'll find some way of making things interesting."

"I might at that," said Draco thoughtfully. "Father says he has a surprise planned for later tonight, but knowing him, it's a new portrait of himself that he's had commissioned or something else terribly exciting."

"Cheer up, the shoe-repelling dance floor has yet to claim a victim tonight, for all that I nearly fell earlier."

"Really? You looked like you knew what you were doing earlier. Who was that you were dancing with, by the way?"

"No idea," said Hermione. "He's done up as Snape, and it's frighteningly realistic."

"I'll bet Weasley loved that."

"You saw the resulting caveman impression."

"I always thought you had a martyr complex for marrying him, Hermione."

"Yes, you made your feelings about Ron abundantly clear at the time. I don't want to talk about it, Draco."

"You're still young," he persisted. "You could find someone you don't have to talk down to when you describe your day at work. Someone cultured. Someone who cares more about you than the Cannons' record."

"What would be the point of that? You're off the market now," replied Hermione, attempting lightness and nearly succeeding.

"I'm being serious, Hermione. It kills me to see you with someone so far beneath you. You need to think about your children's future, as well as your own. Do you really want your son to grow up with Weasley as a role model?"

"Let me guess: Louise has a cousin who's single. We could be one big happy Malfoy family."

Draco squeezed her hand affectionately. "There's no talking to you, is there?"

"Not on that subject. It's closed."

"Then you really don't want to look behind you right now," said Draco innocently, spinning Hermione around.

Hermione groaned. Ron was apologizing to another couple for steering Pansy Parkinson, who was dressed in something skimpy, into them. Pansy was clinging to Ron for balance and looking disgusted for having to do so. He spotted Hermione looking at him, and abruptly started spinning Pansy around so quickly that her feet were barely touching the ground.

He was so focused on the dance that he didn't notice that he was at the very edge of the dance floor, dangerously close to a floating champagne bottle and hors d'ouvre tray. Pansy tried to dig her heels in, but they slid harmlessly over the dance floor.

Hermione covered her eyes with her hands. There was a loud crash and an angry shriek. The music stopped, and everyone turned to look. The tray and bottle were on the floor, their contents spattered all over Pansy, Ron, and the ground.

"Well done! You probably stunned him!" cried an excited voice from across the room, and Luna Lovegood went skidding across the dance floor like a mad ice dancer, arms flailing to catch any invisible creatures in the vicinity.

"Well, I'll say one thing for Weasley," said Draco, smirking. "He certainly is athletic."

Hermione peered at the wreckage through her fingers. "Shut up, Draco."

Draco didn't let Hemione suffer for long. He snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared silently, Vanished the mess from Pansy and the floor, and disappeared. Pansy stomped off, her face and all other revealed flesh pink with humiliation.

Harry had helped Ron, who was still smeared with canapés, to his feet and escorted him outside, presumably to talk some sense into him. The bandleader tapped a baton on his music stand, and the music started once more, just audible over the scandalized murmurs and whispers. Hermione was horrified to see Rita Skeeter in Greek costume amongst the crowd that lined the dance floor, quill and notepad in hand, scribbling furiously.

Smirk plastered firmly in place, Draco extended his hand to Hermione once more, and her mortification evaporated as Draco swept her across the floor. Dazzling Ginny was currently partnered with an Egyptian pharaoh whose gold face and shiny pate bore an unmistakable resemblance to the Minister of Magic. Neville, who was in an astonishingly accurate Venomous Tentacula costume, had somehow convinced Luna to cut short her Gnooly hunt, and he was twirling her around the dance floor. Her orange fur set off his dark green leaves to perfection.

When the dance was finished, Hermione found herself partnered with a vampire she didn't recognize but whose dancing was nearly as good as Snape's. Neville claimed her for the next dance, which was followed by dances with wolves, orangutans, pirates, famous wizards of all sorts, and George in a Quaffle costume, which he assured her was bloody funny because Gwenog, who was rail thin and six feet five inches tall in her stocking feet, was dressed as a scoring hoop. The hours slipped by in a haze of delirious dancing, no Ron, refreshing punch, and comfortable flirtations with people she knew and quite a few she didn't.

Before she knew it, Mr. Pointy and the Vampire Bats were leaving the stage for a break, and the host and hostess ascended the bandstand. Hermione was amused to see that Lucius and Narcissa were dressed as one another, Narcissa sporting Lucius's infamous cane and sumptuous sable-trimmed robes and Lucius in a silver and black beaded gown and bedecked with a fortune in diamonds and platinum.

"Honored guests," said Lucius, hands folded demurely in front of him, "I'd like to thank you all for coming this evening. I hope you are all having a splendid time and that you will continue to do so. Whilst supper will be served at the appointed time, I invite you all to join us beforehand in the music room for a brief announcement."

"We realize that this is somewhat unusual," added Narcissa, "but we hope that you will forgive us our moment of melodrama once you see the surprise."

A buzz of anticipation swept through the crowd. "Perhaps they commissioned a family portrait," suggested Draco in her ear. "And look! Seems like Potter and Weasley want to be rescued from drowning. Or worse, Weasley wants to make a grudging apology."

Ron and Harry were waving at her from the edge of the dance floor. Draco guided her toward them, where she awaited their approach, arms crossed.

"Harry, Ronald," she said neutrally.

"Look, Hermione, Ron's sorry for acting like a prat."

"I'm sorry, Ron, did you say something?"

"I'm sorry for acting like a prat," said Ron, teeth clenched. "Let's go home."

"Surely you and your charming lover are not leaving us so soon, Mr. Abelard?" trilled Narcissa, who had come up behind them. "At least stay for the special announcement! I should be so sorry for you to miss it."

"All right," said Ron with ill grace. "I guess it'd be a shame to leave before supper, anyway."

Hermione had long since given up having any sort of dignity in front of her hostess while her husband was around. She ignored Narcissa's nasty laugh and led her husband to the music room.

"Thanks, Hermione," whispered Harry, while Ron, who had brightened considerably at the prospect of food, regaled them with a story about mock turtle soup.

"There's no real point in yelling at him more tonight," said Hermione, under her breath.

"I hope you'll let him out of the doghouse one of these months."

"Ron's not stupid, despite all evidence to the contrary. He'd do all right if he paused to think every now and then. Thanks," she said as Harry opened the door for her.

The music room was not as large as the ballroom but easily accommodated the vast number of guests, even with the large and ornate keyboard instruments that dominated the room.

Lucius raised his hands, quieting the conversation. "Thank you, friends," he said with a charming smile. "Samhain, as all of you know, is an auspicious time of year that tradition says links us strongly with the past, which is a mixed blessing for those of us whose lives have been touched with tragedy. Yet it is only by facing these ghosts that we may be reconciled."

"This from the man who claimed to be under the Imperius Curse for ten years?" whispered Harry.

"When we hide our faces tonight to observe Samhain, a ritual as old as the observance itself, we simultaneously expose our true selves, the part of us not bound to our daily identities, but to our deepest characters. We start anew, the slate wiped clean. We are not bound by our past actions, but only by our manners, language, and deportment."

"Not to mention pettiness, jealousies, and ignorance," said Draco, who surprised Hermione by whispering into her other ear.

"Tonight, my surprise replaces the traditional unmasking of the guests. It is something a bit different, a bit surprising. I expect that many of you will be shocked."

"Perhaps he's had a family portrait done in the Cubist tradition," said Draco, yawn echoing under his helmet.

"It gives me great pleasure to announce-"

A loud scream cut through Lucius's speech. Rita Skeeter was staring bug-eyed at the air directly in front of her.

Narcissa recovered first. "Are you unwell, madam oracle?"

Rita turned to face the other guests and began to speak in a harsh voice.

"NOW MIDNIGHT FALLS AND WITH IT ALL

THE SECRETS HID FROM SIGHT;

AS WE ALL CHOSE THE MASKS AND CLOTHES

WITH WHICH ARE ALL BEDIGHT.

WE NOW MUST FACE A DEADLY RACE

WITH TRUTH AS WELL AS TIME;

YOUR EGO'S STRENGTH DETERMINES LENGTH

OF PUNISHMENT FOR CRIME.

SO ALL YOU KINGS BEDECKED WITH RINGS

BEWARE REVERSAL'S STING;

BUT ALL YOU MEEK, PERHAPS YOU'LL SEEK

THIS RIDDLE THAT I SING."

As Rita recited, the lights in the music room began to dim and sputter.

'Wicked!" whispered Ron.

"IT'S FAR TO LATE TO FLEE YOUR FATE

THE GODS SHALL HAVE THEIR FUN;

SUSPEND THE DAWN! NOW MASKS BE GONE!

THE GAME HAS NOW BEGUN!"

The lamps guttered and died, and the room was plunged into darkness.

ACEOFCUPSSPUCFOECA


	4. Chapter 4

See Chapter One for disclaimer

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

Chapter Four: Three of Swords

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

The dark room was filled with titillated whispers, each person more excited than the next to see what the Malfoys had in store for them.

"Taddy, the lights!" called Narcissa.

The lights snapped on and several shrieks rang out. It became clear to Hermione why conversation had been so hushed- the number of human revelers had been reduced by half, and in their places stood the creatures they had been dressed as: orangutans, unicorns, monkeys, birds of every description, great cats, wolves, a massive bull walrus, and an Erumpent. Even more disturbing, all the humans' masks were gone, yet she recognized none of the faces around her.

"Ginny!" came an anguished cry from behind her. Hermione spun and found herself face to face with Voldemort. Not Harry dressed as Voldemort, but Voldemort, his spidery fingers supporting the enormous body of the serpent he was examining.

His scarlet eyes flashed. "What have you done to her, Lucius?" he hissed.

Narcissa, who was staring at the proceedings with a horrorstruck expression on her face, responded. "This isn't my doing, my lord. I-" she covered her mouth with her hand, then lifted that dainty hand and examined the perfectly manicured fingertips and dazzling gems at her wrist.

"Harry?" asked Hermione gently.

Voldemort turned to her, a muddled expression on his face that she would have recognized anywhere. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry, it's me."

"Ron?" he asked, turning to a heartbreakingly handsome nobleman with piercing blue eyes and black hair.

"Yeah," he said, staring at Hermione.

"Everyone, please remain calm!" shouted Narcissa.

"My husband's a boar!" shouted a princess, backing away from her newly quadripedal spouse, who was snuffling about her ankles.

"One would hope you'd be used to that by now, madam" said Lucius snidely, running his hands lightly over the fur accents on the breast of his robe. "Now, everyone, please be quiet. I'm sure this will wear off soon, if, as I suspect, the proprietor of Weasley's Wizards Wheezes is behind this. I assume all of you drank the punch?"

"I didn't have a drop," said the princess indignantly, "and neither did Charles."

"Skeeter's the one who did this!" shouted an Inferius, whose odor and decayed appearance caused the other guests to give him a wide berth. "Ask her what's going on!"

But Rita, now young and beautiful, had passed out on the floor. Pharoh Shacklebolt knelt and gently patted her cheeks. Her eyes snapped open and she recoiled from his touch.

"How dare you touch Apollo's chosen, Carthaginian savage!" cried Rita. "I insist upon being returned to my cavern!"

"So she can go write all this into a book, more like," said a vampire, teeth gleaming.

"Change us back!" cried a faun, who was having a hard time with his hooves on the hardwood floor.

"The Oracle causes nothing to happen," said Rita, edging backwards from the advancing crowd. "She merely reads the auguries."

"I'll read your auguries!" yelled the princess, lunging for her.

Rita jumped backwards with a scream and ran out of the room, with the princess, Inferius, and vampire at her heels. Hermione found herself compressed in the crowd as everyone attempted to follow and see what was happening. Fortunately, the Erumpent was given a wide berth.

They squeezed out the door in a river of humans and beasts that pooled at the bottom of the grand staircase, at the top of which Rita and her pursuers were struggling. Rita and the princess were tearing at one another's hair, shrieking in outrage, while the Inferius and the vampire had put their shoulders down and were trying to force the front door open.

"ENOUGH!" roared Narcissa, who had ascended the staircase and roughly pulled the princess off Rita.

She turned to the gathered revelers with a cold but polite smile. It was then that Hermione realized that her host and hostess had not been immune to whatever magic had befallen the party- they had become one another.

"It seems as if one of our guests this evening has taken the liberty of making our costumes rather more realistic," said Narcissa –no, Lucius- wiggling his hips and dragging one finger suggestively along his bosom. "Therefore, I encourage you all to take this event as I'm certain it was intended- as an opportunity for delight and frivolity." He extended his hand to the princess, who was still on the floor, and assisted her to her feet. "If you would be so kind as to join me for dinner, your majesty, I'm certain the house-elves will attend to your husband until he is feeling more like himself again."

The princess giggled, and the assembly let out a collective sigh of relief. The humans, at least. The beasts were wandering aimlessly around the ballroom, and a unicorn was munching on a sheaf of sheet music by the bandstand. The band had flown up to the chandeliers and were napping, ignoring the fairies' chattering protests.

Narcissa watched her husband lead the princess and her entourage into the dining room and let out a sigh of her own. As the crowd drifted into other rooms, she ascended the grand staircase and placed her hand on the door. It did not budge.

"Taddy," she said, enjoying the way Lucius's voice echoed through the empty ballroom.

The house-elf appeared at her elbow. "Yes, Master? Oh! Mistress!" he corrected himself. "Taddy is sorry."

Narcissa ignored his gaffe. "Why is the door locked?"

Taddy put his hand against the door and recoiled, as if he had been burned. He seized one of his ears and turned pitifully back to his mistress. "Taddy is sorry, Mistress, but the door will not open. Taddy has unlocked it, but the door will not budge."

"What do you mean that it won't budge?"

Taddy touched his finger to the door and winced, but he gritted his teeth and concentrated on the door. At last, he removed his hand and looked up at his mistress, panting. "It is not magic that holds the door closed," said Taddy. "It is difficult for Taddy to describe, but what time we is experiencing inside is not happening outside. The doors and windows to outside is not opening because they is held in place by time."

Narcissa frowned. "This is very old magic."

Taddy nodded, ears flapping. "Taddy is not able to break it."

Narcissa lifted her chin."Very well. Bring me my wand, Taddy. If I can't break the spell, I'll break whomever cast it."

Taddy nodded miserably and disapparated. He was back a moment later with a look of terror on his face. "Mistress! Mistress! All the wands is gone! Yours, the Master's, all the guests'- they has been stolen!"

Narcissa pulled herself up to Lucius's full height and fixed the shaken elf with an imperious glare. "Stolen? Impossible! Who was watching them?"

"All the elves, Mistress!" exclaimed Taddy, large tears forming in his eyes. "They says they did not see any thieves."

"Gather the elves in the sitting room. I will be there shortly to question them. And have someone corral these animals. I won't have them making a mess of the dance floor. The walrus should do well in the conservatory fountain."

"Yes, Mistress. Taddy is so sorry, Mistress."

Narcissa gave him a curt nod and made her way to the dining room to inform her husband.

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

In spite of the fact that half the guests had been transformed into beast, the dining room was terribly crowded, and the long table was already piled high with delicacies: small cups of soup, lobster, sweetbreads, stuffed mushrooms, creamed oysters, roast squab, croquettes, and handsome salads.

Everyone was jockeying for a better seat at the table, and Hermione found herself pressed up against Harry, whose appearance still startled her in spite of knowing who was inside. Ginny seemed content to hang around Harry's shoulders like a feather boa, occasionally hissing at people who jostled him. Harry hissed back to her in Parseltongue with a smirk.

"What did you say?"

"I told her to watch her language. Swearing is much more explicit in Parseltongue."

Ron had managed to claim three chairs and was frantically waving them over. The three of them stood behind their chairs as the other partygoers claimed their seats, and all sat at their host's signal.

Ron suddenly seized Hermione's hand in an iron grip. She turned to find Ron staring at her, ashen. All her past irritation evaporated, and she placed her other hand on his arm. "Ron, are you all right?"

"They're gone," he whispered hoarsely. "I went to adjust them when I sat down, but they're gone."

Hermione reached under the table to feel between her husband's legs. Sure enough, his penis and testicles were missing.

"Oh God, Ron. Does it hurt?"

"No. But my block and tackle…" he trailed off miserably, tears filling his eyes.

"Well, that's a small blessing at least," she said. "It's just a temporary enchantment, so try not to panic."

"Try not to panic!" said Ron, voice rising. "My bleeding cock and balls are off, and you tell me not to panic? How am I supposed to piss? This is all your fault, Hermione!"

"My fault? I'm not the one who made this happen! And you'll piss the same way the rest of us who don't have penises do- sitting down."

"Wait a tic, why doesn't Ron have a penis?" interrupted Harry. "Do you know something about King Arthur I don't."

"He's not King Arthur. He's Abelard and I'm Heloise."

"I thought they were like Romeo and Juliet," said Harry.

"Only Romeo never got his bits removed for getting Juliet up the duff," said Ron. "I'm leaving."

"You can't go," Hermione pointed out reasonably. "You want to be here when they break the spell, right? You do want them back, don't you?"

"A fat lot you care," said Ron angrily. "You're probably happy about this."

"Ronald Weasley, how dare-" Hermione began.

"You planned this with Draco, didn't you?"

"For the last time, I had nothing to do with this! And for Merlin's sake, it's not like you're missing a leg!"

Ron flushed a dark red. "Save it, Hermione. I've had it with being the butt of all your jokes tonight. Just leave me alone."

He pushed back his chair and stalked out of the room.

Hermione shook her head as her husband nearly trampled Narcissa as he fled the room. "Euripiedes said it- you talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish."

"That's the trouble with theologians," remarked Severus Snape, sliding into Ron's vacated seat, "they can't see past the end of their own gnosis."

Hermione was mortified to find herself blushing as the side of his leg brushed against hers.

Snape turned to Harry. "Good evening, my Lord. You're looking well."

"As are you, Severusss," replied Harry, savoring his sibilants with a most un-Voldemort-like grin.

"Your timing is fortuitous," said Hermione, taking a dainty spoonful of the bisque. "I seem to have engaged in some inadvertent Muggle-baiting."

Snape looked down the table. "We'd be quite a terrifying assembly of Death Eaters, if one were fazed by that sort of thing."

"Like the people sitting across from me,' said Harry, nodding his head at the King and Queen of Hearts. "They don't look too happy."

"I think that has more to do with what Ginny is obviously doing to you under the table," said Hermione. "You really shouldn't play with a snake like that, at least not at the dinner table."

"Your eunuch friend is no longer around to be jealous. I see no reason to hold back," said Snape.

Hermione snorted into her soup.

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

At the head of the table, Narcissa paused before whispering her husband's ear. Did those earrings really look so gaudy on her? She made a mental note to have the settings changed immediately. At Lucius's quizzical look, she described the situation with the stoppage of time and the missing wands. She was impressed- Lucius had mastered her look of cool serenity after only fifteen minutes in her body.

"Very well," he said after thinking for a moment. "Carry on with your interrogation of the house-elves. I'm certain Mr. Weasley's costume prank will wear off soon. In the interim, I'll put some music on after supper, and I suggest that you, my dear, meet me upstairs."

Narcissa smirked. "I wouldn't dream of missing the opportunity," she said, ghosting her words over the nape of Lucius's neck in a way that always made her shiver. She was not disappointed- Lucius's eyes fluttered shut.

"Perhaps make that sooner than later," he said. "I couldn't possibly eat such a large meal so early in the evening, anyway."

"Bring anything that strikes your fancy," said Narcissa, savoring the way her borrowed face was so suited to smirks. "I'll meet you in, say, half an hour?"

"I'll be counting the minutes," purred Lucius.

Narcissa felt a faint stirring in her groin, and she couldn't resist pressing up against Lucius a bit.

"All in good time, my dear," whispered Lucius, running his hand surreptitiously up her thigh.

Narcissa's manhood jumped in earnest, and she stepped back, straightening her robes. "Enjoy your meal, my dear. I'll join you for dessert."

"Ta ta, darling," said Lucius, raising his glass to her.

Narcissa strode down the length of the ballroom, intrigued by her own arousal and the way it responded to her guests; men, women, beings - they all affected her in slightly different ways, and she reveled in her body's sensitive barometer of attraction. However, she was not at all prepared by her body's strong reaction to Hermione Granger, whose ivory throat was exposed as she laughed at something her dining companion said. She stopped suddenly, transfixed by the girl's bright eyes and the way her hand rested protectively on the infant inside her. Narcissa felt her testicles tighten and penis swell achingly as she stared down over Hermione's shoulder, eyes eagerly taking in the tops of soft breasts and that glorious swell of her belly.

"Luciusss," hissed Harry.

She blinked, clearing her head, filing the information on her husband's proclivities for later use. "My lord," she said, giving Harry a perfunctory little bow. "If I may be so bold, I wish to speak with your lovely friend at her convenience."

"Me?" asked Hermione, confused. "Why?"

"It's nothing serious, my dear," Narcissa assured her, voice warm. "My darling wife and I simply require another viewpoint on this evening's events. If half an hour is enough time to satisfy your appetite, we will await you upstairs, third door on the left."

Snape gave a little lurch that Hermione felt rather than saw.

"All right," said Hermione, not feeling particularly assured by Narcissa's explanation or Snape's reaction. "See you then."

Narcissa regally tilted her head and left the dining room.

"What is it?" Hermione asked Snape quietly.

He glanced at Harry, who was engrossed in his Parseltongue conversation with Ginny. "Let's just say," he murmured, "that you have been handed a golden opportunity to experiment scientifically without needing to educate your oaf husband."

Hermione felt a thrill of excitement run through her when Snape's meaning became clear. "Cheat on Ron?" squeaked Hermione, barely able to keep her voice low.

"Ah, Severus, there you are!" called Narcissa's voice from down the table. "A glass with you, old friend!"

Snape politely raised his wine to Lucius. "To old times," he said.

"Hear hear!" chimed in Harry.

The assembly found this to greatly, if grotesquely, amusing, and in that giddy moment, few noticed when Lucius sidled down the table to whisper in Snape's ear.

"Interesting," said Snape, swirling his wine in his glass. "Half an hour should be sufficient time for me to prepare. Third door on the left, is it?"

"You're too generous with your time, Severus, but my husband and I will be most grateful for your expert input," said Lucius, batting his eyelashes. "But gracious, I must get back to my guests!"

Snape's face was thoughtful as he watched his old friend return to the head of the table. He removed his pocket watch, glanced at the face, and frowned. He held it to his ear, gave a half shrug and put it back into his waistcoat.

"Golden opportunities don't seem to be falling far from the tree," remarked Hermione dryly. "The third door on the left is going to be a rather crowded place to be."

"On the contrary, four is a perfect number, that is, assuming you are up for, shall we say, even divisibility."

The soft thrum that began as a result of Snape's proximity blossomed into a full, throbbing arousal as she allowed her imagination to run wild for several wonderful seconds. With great effort, she tamped down her imaginings and shook her head. "The hypothesis is intriguing, but there are too many variables to consider this a viable experiment."

"Such as?"

"Well, to start with, the Malfoys know who you really are, and I don't."

"You do know who I really am," he said carefully, "but I don't think my assurances will carry as much weight as our host and hostess's."

"My confidence is less than inspired."

"Perhaps, but your becoming blush suggests to me that I'm not alone in having hypothes to test. And bear in mind that even if you go upstairs in a half hour, you will not be forced to remain there, should you not be pleased by what is revealed."

"Unless I dismiss the hypothesis out of hand," said Hermione.

"Nobody would blame you for doing so," said Snape. "Frankly, I'm surprised you're even considering the idea. I was under the impression that you despised the Malfoys, young Draco excepted."

"As Aristotle wrote, it is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it. Besides, finding out who you are is a small price to pay for letting Lucius and Narcissa try to make me even more uncomfortable."

Snape smiled at her again, this time unmasked, and it made him look very nearly handsome. "A glass with you, Heloise. To newfound wisdom."

Her crystal goblet sang as its rim brushed Snape's. "_Lux et veritas."_

They drank.

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

Narcissa paced the sitting room, impatience clearly etched on her face.

"And you say nobody entered the cold pantry except for house-elves?"

"Yes, Mistress," squeaked a chorus of miserable-looking elves.

"Then will one of you kindly explain to me how the wands disappeared?"

All of the Hogwarts elves were wringing their ears, except for Winky, who sat disconsolately on the floor, her face buried in her hands.

"I see. I must express keen disappointment with each of you for allowing this to happen. If you were my house-elves, all of you would be given clothes."

Winky made a loud choking noise.

"But the fact remains that you are under the auspices of one of my guests. If none of you can explain how this happened, perhaps you will be able to do so when your true mistress questions you. Taddy, be so kind as to fetch Minerva McGonagall, the one who turned into a carpenter."

Taddy bowed, his face grave, and disappeared with a soft pop.

The elves looked at one another, terrified. "Mistress must not bring Headmistress of Hogwarts!" exclaimed one elf, throwing himself at Narcissa's feet. "She will be paying us and making us take paid holidays!"

Narcissa looked down her nose and kicked the tearful elf aside. "What makes you think that you will be at liberty to work anywhere after this?" she hissed. "When Minerva recovers the wands, you will face her punishment, and I will know you have lied to me. I will personally ensure that none of you will ever work in a pureblood's home again. If the wands are not recovered, you will throw yourselves on the mercy of Magical Law Enforcement. You know the penalty for stealing a wizard's wand. Multiply that by the number of guests, and you can imagine what kind of serving you'll be doing for the next millennium."

All the Hogwarts elves were blubbering hysterically by the time Narcissa had finished her speech, and even the Malfoy house-elves had sympathetic tears in their eyes.

The door opened and Taddy escorted Minerva McGonagall into the room. She wore bright yellow overalls, a jaunty cap, and an air of suspicion.

"Well, what is it, woman?" asked Minerva briskly. "And what have you done with Horace?"

"Horace is in a comfortable aquatic environment being fed fish by a member of my staff," said Narcissa. "I believe this lot belong to you."

Minerva blinked in surprise to see her elves in weeping pile on the floor. "They work for Hogwarts, yes. Cease this boo-hooing at once," she said sharply to the elves.

They did so with much sniffling, and the headmistress rounded on Narcissa.

"What is the meaning of this? These elves belong at Hogwarts."

"Yes, and they've been working for pureblooded households on their days off," said Narcissa, at which the elves burst into tears again. "The trouble is that one or more of them has made off with all the party guests' wands."

"All the wands?"

"All of them. Furthermore, someone has put a powerful spell on the house, and all of my guests have been transformed into their costumes. You must put a stop to these shenanigans, Minerva."

"I fail to understand why I 'must' do anything," said Minerva. "I'd be more likely to attribute these shenanigans to George Weasley than the house-elves, and I can't imagine that he should want to remain a Quaffle in perpetuity. That problem will go away on its own."

"The doors, then. Surely you see the problem."

"I'm not anxious to leave. I have a hot cup of soup waiting for me in the dining room."

"And the wands? Your wand?"

"I think the ensuing scandal for you and your husband would well be worth the fourteen galleons it will take to replace my wand."

"Minerva, I know you despise me, and I assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual-"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Narcissa," said Minerva, who was examining the coffee table.

"-but what you don't seem to grasp is that at least one of your elves has committed a very serious crime. I know that Hogwarts has a very lax attitude toward scofflaws in general, but surely you can imagine the mayhem that a hundred wands could cause. Your elves aren't obligated to tell me the truth like my elves are. For the sake of everyone's safety, find out if they know anything. I'll even leave the room. Just assure me that the wands are safe." She made a show of gritting her teeth. "Please."

"How much'd pay for this?"

Narcissa frowned at the change of subject. "What?"

"This desk, how much did you pay?"

"It's been in Lucius's family for generations," said Narcissa, taken aback by the common question from the painfully correct headmistress.

"You've got that wrong," said Minerva with a laugh. "Barely worth the wood it's made of. Not bad copy, though. Wood's been processed fair well with lime to make it look old. See the streaks of orange? Dead giveaway, that is. Early twentieth century, I'd wager."

"Toy with me all you want, Minerva. It's on your head, now."

Minerva had been rubbing the finish on a wing chair. "Oh, the elves? I'll find out what's going on, all right. Just give me a minute with them."

Narcissa stared at Minerva, perplexed.

"What are you waiting for?" barked the headmistress. "Leave me to my questioning!"

Narcissa gave her a withering look in reply and left the room. She closed the door behind her, and, on an impulse, put her ear to the keyhole.

"I thought she'd never leave," came Minerva's voice. "Now, who can tell me if them shelves is hardwood or veneer?"

"The old woman's gone senile at last," thought Narcissa with a smirk. Lucius would be very pleased.

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

Narcissa entered her bedroom to find her husband draped across the divan wearing her acromantula-silk chemise and her great-great-grandmother's emerald set. She wouldn't have put the two together, but it suited Lucius's aesthetic nicely, even if he was currently wearing her body as well.

"My dear, you look positively haggard," said Lucius, not unkindly. "I trust you have settled the matter of the wands and come here to unwind?"

"It's the Hogwarts elves," said Narcissa, rubbing her face tiredly. "Minerva McGonagall is questioning them now, and, like the goody-goody she is, she will have the wands back in no time. She made a highly amusing game of trying to discomfit me, but the woman has no subtlety. She's also gone mad."

"Mad, you say?" asked Lucius, slipping the outer robe from Narcissa's shoulders.

"Raving. About the furniture, of all things."

"How delightful," said Lucius, who had started undoing Narcissa's shirt buttons and licking at her nipples.

Narcissa's nether regions leapt to attention, and she gasped softly. She lifted the hair from her husband's neck and began massaging the base of his scalp. "It is a wonderful thing," she remarked, smiling at the purring sounds he was making, "to truly know your lover's body as well as your own, beyond what can be learned after so long an association."

"I quite agree," said Lucius, undoing the fly on Narcissa's trousers and pulling them to her ankles. "It is also a wonderful thing to see that one looks even more ravishing in black lace than one had previously believed." He ran his tongue up the shaft of Narcissa's penis, and she gasped.

"Good Gaia, Lucius, is that what it feels like for you every time?"

"Nearly, my sweet," he said, kissing her glans through the black lace briefs. "However, you're experiencing it for the first time, so I should think it's a somewhat more intense experience."

"I see." She slid the top of the chemise down and cupped his warm breasts in her hands. "Then you'll enjoy this even more than I normally do?"

Now it was Lucius's turn to moan from his wife's ministrations, nipples pebbling immediately, and he thrust his chest forward with every light graze and pinch. "How do women stand wearing clothes all day?"

"If you think they're sensitive now," said Narcissa with a wicked smile. "Imagine what they're like during pregnancy."

Lucius's moan turned guttural.

"Don't think I didn't notice how your body responded to Hermione Granger this evening," said Narcissa, wrapping her arms around Lucius's small frame. "That's why I invited her to join us."

Lucius's hand flew between his legs and began rubbing furiously. "My precious darling, if I were myself, I would be making a mess on the carpet. As I am you, I must inform you that your ravishing body is demanding something inside it immediately."

"Delighted to oblige," said Narcissa, sweeping her husband onto the bed, flinging off the remains of her clothing and entering Lucius swiftly.

"Dear Demeter," gasped Lucius. "It's extraordinary."

Narcissa didn't trust herself to speak. Her body was demanding her to move, to thrust, to claim, but her thoughts gave her pause. She should hate for Lucius's virgin voyage into femininity to be anything less than blinding.

"What on earth are you waiting for?" growled Lucius.

"I was just wondering what that jumped up Mudblood would say, seeing my, or rather your, perfect arse up in the air, pumping desperately into a wanton female. Do you think it would arouse her?"

She felt sharp fingernails clutch at the anatomy in question.

"Do you think she'd stand there, transfixed at the sight of you fucking your wife, unable to move? Would she put her hand under her skirt, do you think? Would she take her fingers and frig herself while watching you, wishing it were you doing it?"

Narcissa had begun gentle, rolling thrusts into Lucius, whose hands clutched her hips, pulling her forward into him.

"Softly, sweet," whispered Narcissa into his ear, causing gooseflesh to ripple over Lucius's arms and chest. "I think she would. I think she'd fall against the wall, one hand frigging herself madly, and the other tweaking her swollen breasts and rubbing her enormous belly, wanting your cock inside her. Weeping for it."

Lucius was making inarticulate high-pitched noises and desperately clutching Narcissa to him, arching his hips into hers. His body was rhythmically pulsing around hers in a way that was most distracting. Narcissa was starting to lose the feeling in her toes, and with a gasp, her body gave a heave, and she found herself pumping inexorably into Lucius. Filthy words were streaming out of her mouth, and her testicles tightened alarmingly.

Suddenly, Lucius was writhing beneath her, bedclothes clutched in his hands, crying out, gasping for breath, and orgasm hit Narcissa like a sledgehammer. She shouted, slamming herself into her husband as hard as she could, feeling every tense part of her body spasm, until she collapsed on him, limp and spent.

She propped herself up quickly on her elbows, remembering how difficult it was to catch her breath while bearing someone else's weight, and kissed Lucius. It felt different, certainly, but also wonderful.

When she had caught her breath, she was delighted to see Lucius beaming up at her.

"Was it satisfactory?" she asked, preening slightly at the look of adoration in his eyes.

"Mmm," said Lucius, lifting himself and kissing her chest.

"I wonder at the number of years we've been together and never once thought of using Polyjuice," she said, brushing a few errant tendrils of hair from his face.

"Well, when two people are as good looking as we are, it's not surprising that we shouldn't seek fun in the bodies of others," said Lucius rubbing himself luxuriously against her.

"Except for the occasional third or fourth," she said, nuzzling his neck.

"Aah, yes," breathed Lucius. "Pardon me if I'm overstepping my bounds, dearest, but you may wish to withdraw now, lest we be damply surprised later."

Narcissa wiggled experimentally and withdrew. "Damn whomever stole our wands," she grumbled.

"Taddy can change the sheets, before our guests arrive," said Lucius, drying himself on the sheet and wrapping his arms around his wife. She kissed him warmly, and gathered him into her lap.

"Guests?"

"Didn't I mention that I'd invited someone, too?"

"Oh, you wicked man!" exclaimed Narcissa. "Who is it?"

"Can you not guess? Why, you yourself commented how beautifully he and Hermione Granger danced together."

Narcissa kissed him fiercely. "How ever did you know?"

Lucius stroked her penis, which was already stiffening again. "Very much in the same way you deduced my attraction to Hermione Granger, though female lust is accompanied by so many physiological reactions that I feared I was coming down with a fever."

Narcissa stroked Lucius's cheek. "While I approve entirely of your choice, we will most likely have to assure Ms. Granger that Severus is really Severus before she will consent participate. I know how much you were looking forward to presenting him to everyone tonight. Do you think we can rely on her discretion until another grand opportunity to unveil Severus presents itself?"

"Now really, my dear," said Lucius, kissing his way down her chest. "Do you really think Ms. Granger will be keen to tell anyone precisely under what circumstances she discovered Severus's true identity?"

Narcissa sighed contentedly as Lucius's tongue teased the head of her stiffening member into his mouth. "I suppose you're right. I hope she has the sense to leave that fool of a husband of hers after this. I don't think she'll enjoy our having leverage on her, should we be called upon to use it."

A nearly inaudible pop came from a dark corner of the room. Narcissa stiffened for a moment, but realized that Taddy had seen them in far more shocking positions. That, and there was no way she was going to do anything to make Lucius stop what he was doing.

"Taddy," she groaned. "Please change the sheets."

"No."

Lucius released her penis from his lips with a soft pop. "What the devil d'you mean, 'no?' Show yourself!" he demanded.

The figure stepped forward into the light, and Narcissa let out a little shriek.

"Y- You-" stammered Lucius.

The interloper snapped his fingers, and Lucius and Narcissa were quickly bound and gagged with their soiled linens.

Ignoring their muffled protests, the figure leapt on to the bed and kicked Lucius savagely in the stomach. Just for good measure, he kicked Narcissa, whose whimpers brought a look of resolve to his face.

He seized their arms, and all three disappeared with a loud crack.

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT


	5. Chapter 5

See Chapter One for disclaimer

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS

Chapter Five: Six of Wands, Reversed

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS

"I think we're more likely to gain entrance to the sanctum sanctorum if we knock," said Severus, an edge of impatience in his voice.

Hermione raised her hand and lowered it again. "I feel a bit bad having this opportunity when Ron's bits have gone missing."

"You'd prefer to do it when he's in full possession of his genitalia?"

"I just don't want him to think I'm abandoning him in his time of need."

"Then simply point out that he was the one who left you. The man made his own adult decision, and now it's your turn. Now, are you going to knock or shall I?"

Hermione heard uncertainty beneath Snape's irritation and gave him a reassuring smile. Had Snape always been so easy to read? She shook her head. This wasn't Snape.

"I just needed to adjust my paradigm," she said. "After all, Plato reminds us that one can learn more about a person from an hour of play than from a year of conversation."

"You're full of pithy quotations this evening," grumbled Snape.

"The occasion warrants them- how frequently am I an eleventh-century lady of letters?"

She raised her fist and rapped smartly on the door. It creaked open at her knuckles' impact.

She and Snape exchanged a glance, and he pushed the door the rest of the way open.

The room was beautiful, done in various shades of rose, gold, and brown, with a thick gold carpet and crystal fixtures that cast warm, gentle light over the center of the room. An enormous canopy bed dominated the left wall. Hermione frowned. Narcissa and Lucius were nowhere to be seen.

"I know your watch stopped, but we're not that early, are we?"

Snape stood over a pile of abandoned clothing and examined the bed, which had been stripped of its linens. "It seems that they started without us," he said, gesturing to a damp spot in the middle of the uncovered featherbed.

"That's friendly," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose. "Couldn't be bothered to use Evanesco when they were finished."

"Perhaps they didn't have their wands. Or perhaps they were interrupted soon afterwards. A more intriguing question is why the house-elves didn't remove the stain when they took the linens."

Hermione glanced at the bed. "Unless it wasn't the house-elves who took the sheets. Look how roughly they were pulled off the bed- the bedskirt's in disarray. Still, it's easy enough to just ask them. Taddy," she called, "_Venez ici, s'il vous plait."_

Snape looked at her curiously. "Is the elf French?"

"I don't think so, why?"

"You just called him in French."

"Not possible," she said absently, examining the walls and carpet. "I don't know if I could even remember how. I'm awful with languages."

Snape frowned, but said nothing. He examined the area surrounding the stain and found a strand of long golden hair, which he held up to the light.

"Interesting."

"What is it?" she asked from the corner of the room.

"It seems that at one point the Malfoys were on top of the featherbed with no sheets."

"Malfoy flesh on cotton twill? That doesn't sound like them at all."

"No, it doesn't," Snape agreed. "Any more than it sounds like them to be absent from an intrigue of their own design."

Hermione paused in her inspection. "You don't think anything bad happened, do you?"

"What gives you that idea?"

"Well, it looks rather like Lucius and Narcissa have been abducted."

"That seems like a rash conclusion."

"Does it, sir? Then perhaps you can explain this," she said, pointing at the floor in a dark corner of the room.

"For Circe's sake, woman, given what you were considering doing with me this evening, would it kill you to call me Severus?" he snapped.

"Begging the question a bit, aren't you Severus?" she said, sorely tempted to stick out her tongue at him. "Come look at this. I can't bend down to look at it properly."

Hermione had found what appeared to be a vaguely foot-shaped smear of mud, as if the owner of the foot had realized it was dirty and wiped it clean.

Severus knelt. "Red and sandy; it's not from around here," he said. "The foot is also too small to be Narcissa's and too large to be Lucius's. There is also the question of how this single footprint came to be here when the door is on the other side of the room."

Hermione gasped suddenly.

She looked quickly around the room, her gaze finally falling on the bed. She pursed her lips in determination and stuck her foot beneath the bed skirt, feeling around with her toe.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find the opening mechanism for the secret door."

"What secret door?"

"To the house-elves' corridors. They run throughout the house. That's the only other explanation I can think of for the red mud to be in the corner but nowhere else."

"Preposterous. I've never heard of such a thing."

Hermione threw him a triumphant look. "Preposterous?" There was a soft click and a whisper from the corner as the front wall withdrew, revealing a narrow passage.

"Here's more of the mud," she said, pointing to a spot just inside the wall. "He must have left it just before he entered. There are lights further down the way. Let's go find them." She turned to him with a wide smile that faded when she saw the grave expression on his face. "What is it, Severus?"

"Has it escaped your notice that the house-elf you called has yet to materialize?"

She blinked. "Oh. He's probably busy with the other guests. Hang on, I'll try a different elf. Winky, we need your help!"

There was no response. Hermione's frown deepened.

"You don't find it suspicious that someone used the house-elves' secret corridor to visit unpleasantness upon the Malfoys, and now their house-elves aren't responding to summonses?"

"Are you suggesting that the house-elves have something to do with this?"

"I'm suggesting that whoever is behind this disappearance has probably done something to the house-elves in order to use their corridors to move through the house," said Severus impatiently. "Otherwise his plans would have been thwarted."

"Unless it was someone the house-elves were used to seeing in the corridors."

Severus snorted. "Like whom?"

Hermione managed to bite her tongue before "Gnoolies" popped out. "I don't know. Some other retainer?"

He gave her a superior look. "Either way, you cannot deny that the hidden corridors are likely to be unsafe."

"Compared to standing around in a ballroom with an Erumpent? Please. This is much more interesting."

"Very well," he conceded grudgingly. "I suggest we seek our host and hostess around the house before attempting the corridor. We may discover further signs of their whereabouts."

"Sounds prudent," said Hermione. "You take upstairs, I'll take the ground floor. I'll meet you back here when I'm finished. Can I bring you anything from supper? You hardly touched your food earlier."

He regarded her for a moment, then shook his head. "Thank you, no. I've not much appetite."

Hermione turned to leave, glancing over her shoulder at him as she left the room. She was surprised to see Severus sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

She closed the door quietly behind her.

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS

Hermione's footfalls were inaudble on the carpeted stair, and she crept down the short hallway to the ballroom with caution, listening. She jumped when she saw a strange woman next to her but realized she had passed in front of a large gilded mirror. The face in the mirror was small and dainty, with a perfect rosebud mouth, cornflower eyes, and thick golden hair that tumbled down her back from beneath her veil. It was, she realized, the sort of face that could tempt one of the most famous and handsome young scholars in the world to imprudence.

She turned to examine her figure, which was every bit as great with child as her own, yet Heloise managed to carry her infant differently. It looked as if the child were somehow separate from her, as though she were an angel shouldering someone else's burden.

Hermione made a face at her reflection and giggled when Heloise's perfect face returned the grimace.

She left the mirror and continued down the hall towards the music and conversation in the ballroom. And as she opened the door a crack, she realized that Snape had been much more solicitous toward her when she was in her own person than in her current, singularly attractive form. She smiled and peered through the narrow opening.

The band was nowhere to be seen, but someone, likely their host or hostess, had placed a large wireless set on the bandstand. It was playing strange music, but nobody in the ball room seemed to be listening to it, except for Neville the Venemous Tentacula, who was winding his way up a column and shivering in time with the music.

The others in the ballroom had clustered into small groups, and vociferous arguments echoed around the room. She was surprised to note that only a few of the animals remained, mostly birds.

She opened the door a few inches wider and spotted several of the larger animals at the buffet table, making a royal mess of the spread. The tower of champagne goblets had been smashed, and the walrus lay on the pile of shards, its thick hide impenetrable, with its mouth open wide to receive the stream of champagne that fell from above.

Seeing no sign of Lucius and Narcissa, Hermione stepped from her hiding place and skirted the edge of the room.

"Stop!" called an imperious voice.

She turned to find Kingsley Shacklebolt, blinding in gilded pharaonic regalia, pointing a curved cane at her.

She nearly fainted in relief. As former head of the Aurors, Kingsley's knowledge of crime would be a boon. With his help, they'd locate their hosts in no time. "Minister, am I glad to see you!"

"Minister?" Kingsley puffed out his chest. "What insolence is this? You will refer to me as Your Most Serene Imperial Majesty!"

Hermione smiled. "Very authoritative, Your Most Serene Imperial Majesty. I need your help. Lucius and Narcissa have disappeared."

"Guards!" Kingsley called, "Arrest this insolent slave!"

"Kingsley, enough. I'm being serious."

"We shall see if five years in the dungeon teaches you proper respect. GUARDS!"

Hermione frowned. The Minister had never failed to take her opinion seriously before. Something was very wrong.

"You haven't any guards here," came a haughty female voice from her left. A stunningly beautiful woman stood there, with dark hair in perfect ringlets and luminous brown eyes. She wore a short linen dress fastened with gold chains, which Hermione recognized as Pansy Parkinson's.

Kingsley glared at her. "I am Your Most Serene Imperial Majesty, you impertinent woman, and you will address me as such."

"I'm no subject of yours! I am Helen of Troy, wife of Menelaus, sister by marriage to Agamemnon himself! You will address me as Your Highness!"

"My vast armies will crush you and put your pretty head on a pike! Guards! Seize her!"

"Troy was sacked for me, and your feeble country could not hold us! Have you the temerity to suggest that your ragtag slaves can defeat us? Guards! Put him in irons!"

"You are both pathetic mortals fighting over scraps from the gods' table," drawled a deep voice from behind them. Draco Malfoy, now larger than any mortal man, sprawled the length of two sofas. His shirt was gone, revealing a superherculean torso, over which he wore a sash bedecked with keys of every size and shade. Hermione wondered if his other face was smiling, too.

"And you're a second-rate creation of Etruscan savages," snarled Pansy. "You're not in my Pantheon."

Draco snapped his fingers, and the golden fastener that bound Pansy's dress to her shoulders unclasped, forcing the queen to snatch the top of her dress and hold it in place, lest she disclose how many ships the rest of her body could launch.

"It's not a wide-ranging power I wield," said Draco with equanimity, "but it's still unlimited in its own way. Now, if you would care to make me an offering, say some of those delicious olives over there, I might be kind enough to restore your lock."

"May the fires of Hades's forge melt your insolent faces! Guards! Arrest that god!"

"Do you desire the green olives or the purple ones, o great one?" asked Kingsley, who was nervously fingering the golden pin that held his linen under-robe in place.

Since nobody, least of all any guards, seemed to be responding to all the bellowing, Hermione seized the opportunity to slip away, deeply troubled. Similar arguments were occurring all over the ballroom. Two Zeuses were comparing the sizes of their lightning bolts to determine which was real, while Circe and Baba Yaga argued over whether they should cook everyone present as is or whether they should be turned into pigs first. Hermione fled to the sitting room, her thoughts in a whirl.

She was immediately hit with a strange smell that made her feel lightheaded. The fireplace was lit, but the flue was closed, filling the room with thin gray smoke. The flames threw strange shadows over the room. She nearly jumped when she realized that the woman who had been Rita Skeeter was sitting on the sofa, a deck of cards in her hands.

"What do you desire of the Oracle?" she asked, drawing the top card from the deck and laying it face-up on the coffee table.

Hermione could have kicked herself. Of course everyone was being taken over by their costumes. Hadn't she seen it first with Rita, who now fancied herself the Oracle of Delphi? She had to find Lucius and Narcissa. If the werewolves and vampires forgot they were humans, there could be serious trouble soon.

"I'm looking for Lucius and Narcissa. Have you seen them?"

"The Oracle sees all." She placed a second card on the table.

Hermione's eyes were beginning to water from the smoke. "And?"

"Patience," said Rita, laying out a third card and beckoning Hermione to sit. "Draw a card and place it crossways on the center card."

Hermione did so, and Rita paused, eyes closed, breathing in the smoke. She dealt eight more cards and placed two each at each of the cardinal directions, one above and one below.

"This spread reveals little to me, as all seems to be in flux and in opposition. Here, you, the Empress, lies reversed over the Lovers, also ill-dignified, in your present. In your past, the Tower- calamity and strife; and in your future, the Wheel of Fortune, ill-dignified, indicating a resistance to change and difficulties."

"Delightful," said Hermione, reminded strongly of Sibyl Trelawney. "I don't suppose you see a violent death for me?"

"For you, no," said the Oracle, frowning. "But the Devil stands at the north, here ill-dignified, at his most foul, covetous, and vengeful. He is supported by Death, also reversed," she said, pointing to the northern card just below the Devil, "who is not physical death, but the signal of an abrupt and painful change in circumstances. The ill-dignified Wheel in your future does not bode well for the rest of the cards if the Devil and Death are left to their own devices."

"This is terribly interesting," said Hermione impatiently, "but I really need to be going."

"Sit," commanded the Oracle. "Those whom you seek lay to the east- the High Priestess and the Hanged Man, but they are reversed and under the particular influence of the Devil."

"Fine, I'll look for Lucius and Narcissa in the east wing."

"These aren't literal directions," snapped the Oracle, "and you cannot go alone. The tools you seek lie to the south- the Chariot, whose reversed confirmation is marked by strength and ambition, and the Moon, whose illusory nature is twisted by reversal."

"Everything seems to be reversed tonight," remarked Hermione.

The Oracle looked up from the cards. "She's not as dense as she looks after all," she said, sounding like Rita Skeeter for the first time since midnight. "Now, the west. The Hermit stands here, reversed, indicating obstinacy and isolation, which you must overcome. The Tower has tried to thwart your efforts and will continue to do so until you find a way to make the Wheel spin in the correct direction."

Something about the Oracle's words tickled the edges of Hermione's memory. "What's the final card?" asked Hermione, unable to read the strange letters on the card, for all that it was the only one that was right-side up.

"The Heirophant," said the Oracle, smugly, "which indicates good counsel and guidance."

Hermione looked at her suspiciously. "I thought Oracles just spouted off platitudes. Since when do they read cards?"

"There were no stones, nor entrails, nor bones for me to interpret," said the Oracle stiffly. "One learns to make do when one is a god's chosen. Now, do you want my good counsel or not?"

Hermione still sensed that something was very wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "Give it to me," said Hermione.

The Oracle smiled. At least one of them was happy with the situation, thought Hermione darkly.

"The major arcana illuminates situation and those who have significant influence," said the Oracle. "Now, the minor arcana shows us the path." She turned over five cards in front of Hermione. "The power that guides me can reveal no more than this," she said. "It is only half your journey, but until the Wheel spins in reverse, there is nothing more in your future."

"You mean I'll die?"

"Not death. A cessation."

"What kind of cessation?"

"It is unclear." The Oracle was becoming agitated. "Look for yourself."

Hermione looked at the cards and was once again frustrated by her inability to read the words on the cards. "I see nothing."

"It is the influence of the Tower," sighed the Oracle. "We begin with disharmony in a personal relationship with a reversed two of cups, which spirals into inevitable discord with the five of wands, though it is not irreparable at this time. Joy and delight follow in the ace of cups, which is followed immediately by treachery and confusion with the ill-dignified three of swords. Next, indecision with the reversed six of wands, which also indicates delayed or bad news. This is also a card that indicates uncertainty of the outcome, and it is the reason that I can see no further."

"Can't you give me anything more than this to go on? Something, well, concrete?

The Oracle closed her eyes and sat back. "You will find signs of the Hanged Man and the High Priestess in the guts of birds. Follow the moon, but beware the creatures of the underworld. You will find no quarter with them. The Oracle has spoken."

Hermione instinctively made the sign of the cross, then froze. Dear God, it was happening to her, too. Heloise was taking over.

"No," she murmured to herself, struggling to her feet. "I am Hermione Granger. I am a witch. I live in the twenty-first century. I am married to Ron Weasley. I am going to find Lucius and Narcissa and put a stop to this."

She found herself standing by the window again. It was still pitch-black outside- so much for following the moon- but she noticed something curious. Where the raindrops had spattered softly against the window earlier in the evening, it was now silent. She leaned closer to the window and was fascinated to see raindrops flattened against the window in varying states of impact, but they were unmoving, as if they were frozen there.

A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece confirmed her suspicions. It, like the world outside, had stopped at midnight. She glanced at the Oracle, who was still seated motionless on the sofa. Perhaps that's what the Oracle had meant by a cessation.

She suddenly remembered raining mornings of translating Plato, and the chill she had felt upon reading the words, "Death is not the worst that can happen to men." She wasn't sure if it was her own memory or Heloise's.

A soft grinding noise from her left made her jump, and she spun just in time to see the door behind the bookshelf opening. She seized a large seltzer bottle that was on the wet bar and raised it threateningly over her head, but there was nobody there.

Cautiously, she approached the doorway, but all she could see was the blackness of the passageway. As she stared, a shimmering outline began to take shape, first in light black, then to dark gray, and finally into shimmering silver. It was about five feet in height and appeared to be a long-haired gorilla, its face obscured by its silky fur. Mournful black eyes stared out at her, and it raised a hand, beckoning to her.

"Luna," whispered Hermione. She put down the bottle and followed the Demiguise into the dark passage. The door slid shut behind them.

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS

The passageway along the edge of the sitting room, like the one abutting Lucius and Narcissa's bedroom, was lit with lamps. Dim light filtered in through cracks that outlined hidden doors and tiny peepholes at house-elf height. Luna took Hermione's hand and led her past the sitting room and along the side of the ballroom, which Hermione recognized from its immense size and the raised but muffled voices she could hear.

On they went, pacing the perimeter of the enormous room, until Luna gently led her to the left, where they passed beneath the great entryway staircase. Abruptly, Luna stopped and dragged Hermione back to the stairs and pushed her gently out of the main passageway. She draped her body protectively over Hermione's and faded to black.

Hermione hardly dared to breathe, for she soon heard footsteps coming toward them. She could barely see through a space beneath Luna's arm. A small shape became visible in the dim light. Whoever it was stopped at a peephole in the dining hall wall and observed silently for a few minutes, then padded toward Hermione and Luna.

Luna had relaxed slightly, and Hermione could see more clearly. As it crossed a beam of light from a hidden door, Hermione felt her anxiety evaporate. It was Winky the house-elf.

She took a breath to call out, but Luna put a paw over her mouth and held her still. Hermione started to struggle but realized that struggling against the Demiguises's immense strength was not only in vain, but also a very bad idea, given the strange happenings that evening.

When Winky's footsteps had faded, Luna released her.

"I don't understand," said Hermione, frowning.

The Demiguise shook her head in confusion and took Hermione's hand again, leading her to the peephole through which Dobby had been looking. She helped Hermione to her knees and stood back, letting Hermione see.

It was the dining room, and a horde of people were still seated around the table, eating, drinking and laughing. At first, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. There were still party guests eating supper, and decorative frozen ices had appeared at every seat. But upon closer examination, she realized that the food had gone rotten.

Flies buzzed around the plates of fruit, which had large black splotches on them, and the meats and shellfish had turned gray and dry. The vegetables had wilted, and even the decorative flowers had dried to nearly dust.

At the head of the table, Harry, or rather, Voldemort sat holding court. He was surrounded by werewolves, vampires, ghouls, Occamies, hags, Erklings, Pogrebins, and a Grindylow, which was swimming around in the punch bowl. Several humans, including Baba Yaga, also sat at the table, all laughing sycophantically at something Harry had said. All glasses were brimming with red wine, and at Harry's signal, all those with hands raised their glasses.

"My friends," said Harry, no longer distinguishable from Voldemort in any way, "it seems that we are all of the same mind. Then let us raise our glasses and drink to new beginnings and profitable partnerships."

The hellish assembly echoed his sentiments and burst into boisterous cries of support.

Suddenly, Hermione noticed Ginny, or rather, Nagini, slithering across the dining room floor and up her master's chair, draping herself comfortably around his shoulders.

Voldemort brushed his lips against the serpent's pointed head, whispering to her in Parseltongue. A thin smile curved his lips.

"Nagini brings exciting news, friends. It seems that in her patrolling, she caught a faint scent of Muggle."

The table buzzed excitedly, the werewolves drooled and the vampires licked their fangs.

Hermione frowned, wondering how on earth Nagini could possibly differentiate between Muggle and wizard until she realized that she had been transformed into someone from the middle ages, and therefore unlikely to have access to deodorant or No-Smell Spells.

"Find it," Voldemort ordered. "Bring it to me, and we shall have a revel of our own to put Lucius's to shame. The one who brings it will be rewarded beyond their wildest imaginations. I will await your return. Do not fail me."

As the monstrous company went tearing out of the room, Hermione shivered, feeling as if someone had cast a Disillusionment Charm on her. Harry had ordered his minions to search for Muggles, and she had no idea where her husband was.

Voldemort settled Nagini more securely on his shoulders and followed them.

She turned to find Luna gazing at her with fathomless black eyes. "I've got to find Ron," she said.

The Demiguise did not seem to have heard her and pressed a button on the corridor wall. A small door, just large enough to allow a house-elf access to the food on the sideboard, slid open. Hermione slammed her palm down on the button to close the door again.

"What are you doing?" she whispered furiously. "If Voldemort catches me, I'll be a vampire aperitif!"

Luna recoiled from Hermione's angry tone and began fading into the dark.

"I'm sorry, Luna, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I know you're only trying to help, but-" she cut off as she realized what was on the sideboard. "-you're a genius!" she exclaimed, pressing the button again.

On a tray directly under her nose was a tray of lightly seared foie gras, and each piece had a dead spider on top of it.

"Follow the moon, beware the creatures of the underworld, and seek signs in the guts of birds," she repeated to herself with an incredulous smile.

But where had the spiders come from? And why would the house-elves have replenished the feast with spoiled food? She looked closer at one piece of pâté, which had a spider mashed completely into it. With a start, she realized that the thumb that had smashed the spider was too large to be a house-elf's.

At that moment, she realized that the Oracle's warning had nothing to do with Harry's minions. She knew what she had to do. Suddenly inspired, she seized the tray of pâté for closer study and closed the door behind her.

The Demiguise had been grooming herself during the wait and blinked at her placidly.

"Come on, Luna! We need to find Draco!"

Hermione seized her paw and rushed down the passageway toward the ballroom as fast as she could convince her feet to move.

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS


	6. Chapter 6

See Chapter One for disclaimer

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS

Chapter Six: Six of Wands

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS

Severus raised his head sharply when the bedroom door closed behind Hermione. He did not understand what was happening, and he didn't like it. What was worse, he was finding it difficult to focus on the problem at hand.

He stood and made his way to the en suite toilet, where he splashed cold water on his face in an attempt to clear his head. As he dried his face and hands on one of Narcissa's gardenia-scented hand towels, Severus tried to recall verbatim everything Lucius and Narcissa had said to him that evening.

Before the guests had arrived, Severus had scolded them while they dressed, trying to convince them that their surprise plan to reveal him at midnight was the height of folly. Of course, there was no dissuading them. They were convinced that their pet war hero was the perfect sign of what the Malfoys had to offer wizarding society, and Severus could not seriously object, not after Lucius and Narcissa had hidden him in their home, even from Draco, until he was convinced that emerging from hiding would not result in a life sentence in Azkaban.

The doorbell had rung, and Severus had hidden himself in an alcove to enjoy Lucius and Narcissa's precise snubbing of the Weasleys. He had to admit that he had enjoyed Ron and Hermione's discomfiture, but it was nothing to his delight in discovering that Hermione had developed a tart tongue from years of sharpening it on her dense whetstone of a husband.

Thankfully her mind and spirit were undulled by the drudgery of being a mother to both child and man-child. He assumed she found great satisfaction in other parts of her life, likely in her career, about which Severus read occasional articles in the Prophet.

He vehemently scrubbed his hands dry. Now was not the time for enumerating Hermione's virtues and vices. His justifiable attraction to her was a distraction, but even worse was the raging anger and bitterness her presence seemed to have stirred up in him.

He gazed at himself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the heavily lined face that glowered back at him.

On an impulse, he pulled his hair back behind his ear and lifted his chin to expose the side of his neck that Nagini had mauled.

The scar was gone.

Of course. He'd assumed that he was immune to the bizarre costume spell, since he had dressed as himself, but the spell had taken his teacher's costume literally and restored him to the Severus Snape he had once been, when he had been Head of Slytherin House, Potions teacher, and double-agent.

He turned from the mirror in disgust. He had no desire to look upon himself as he had been; brittle, petty, and obsessed with his past failures. He had no admiration for the man who he'd been then and had no desire to be that man once more. But was there a way to prevent it? Heloise's personality was already gaining strength in Hermione. He only hoped that he could locate Lucius and Narcissa before the transformation was complete.

There was no doubt in his mind that Lucius and Narcissa had met with some mischief, especially given what Lucius had whispered to him before inviting him upstairs. Someone had stolen the party guests' wands, and neither Lucius nor Narciss knew who.

Newly motivated, Severus made his way to the end of the hallway and began opening doors. The first led to the bedroom that had been given to him, and he found it empty, as were his toilet and laboratory. As he made his way back down the hallway, he came across a Sphinx jealously guarding a stuffy storage room, a small flock of Snidgets, an orangutan hanging from a drawing room chandelier, and pair of snogging royalty in a linen closet who demanded quiet, as they were conducting serious affairs of state.

Halfway down the hall was an open balcony that overlooked the great gallery on the first floor, where works of art, hunting trophies, buntings bearing the Malfoy crest, and magical oddities collected by generations of Malfoys were displayed. Severus was amused to note that the majority of the animals created by the costume spell had been corralled there, some in makeshift pens, others tied to display columns, and others roaming relatively free.

Upon second glance, he realized that there was a man sitting in the corner, nearly obscured by a colony of Horklumps. Severus felt a pang of irritation when he realized it was Abelard. He was scribbling on a sheet of parchment with a disconsolate air, emphasized by his nearly continual sighing.

He would come to no harm among the Horklumps, unless it was to sustain a bite from a hungry gnome, but Severus knew that Hermione would be happier if she knew he was safe.

"Abelard!" he called. "Climb up that bunting and come with me."

"_Do not call me by that name, for Peter Abelard is dead." _

Severus was momentarily taken aback to hear Weasley speaking in fluent Latin.

"_Don't be an idiot,"_ hissed Severus, imbuing his own Latin with authority sufficient to bring a third year classroom to order. _"Come up here at once."_

"_Leave me amongst the mushrooms,"_ he said, "_for when I languish and leave this earthly plane may bring them new life."_

"_Pathetic,"_ said Severus. _"But if you're convinced Heloise would rather see you as mushroom food than as the man she loves, suit yourself."_

"_O cruel lady who convinced me not to marry her! What violence was done me for her stubbornness!"_

"_You were the one who shipped her off to the nuns. And as I recall, she refused to marry you for fear that you would lose your livelihood as canon and lecturer. The girl felt that you would do more for the world as a philosopher than as her husband. Delusional, obviously, but hardly deserving your calumny."_

"_And now I have neither position, nor reputation, nor wife, nor means of earning redemption for my deeds. As St. Augustine said, to abstain from sin when one can no longer sin is to be forsaken by sin, not to forsake it." _Abelard's tone was bitter.

"Be silent," snapped Severus in English. He reverted to Latin at Abelard's clueless stare. _"You were given gifts in your life the likes of which others can only dream. Now that one of the lesser has been taken, you sulk like the spoiled child that you are. When you decide to cease your mewling and groaning, come upstairs. Your lady will be missing you."_

A ghost of a smile flickered in Abelard's features. "_She will be missing me- for if you think what I've lost was one of my lesser gifts, then you must have been talking to the wrong women."_

"_Perhaps so; I'm certainly not seeing any sign of the great mind that was rumored to exist in your head."_ Severus turned on his heel and returned to the hallway, where he flushed the party guests with more vitriol than was strictly necessary.

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS

Gasping for breath, Hermione stopped in front of a peephole that opened onto the ballroom. Through it she could see Voldemort's minions milling about, assaulting other party guests and searching for her and Ron. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen, and she was fairly certain that they couldn't find her in the walls.

She scanned the room, looking for Draco Malfoy's bright silver faces, but they were nowhere to be seen.

"Janus?" she whispered.

She heard the sofa on the other side of the wall shift slightly as Janus stood from his hiding place behind it. The face on the back of his head spotted her eyes inside the peephole, and he ducked out of view as quickly as he had appeared.

"What do you want?" he asked in a whisper barely audible from the other side of the wall.

"What exactly are you the god of, Janus?"

"Beginnings and endings," he said proudly. "Planting and harvest, births, marriage, savagery and civilization. Well, doors and gateways mostly," he admitted. "But they make offerings to me on all of the other occasions, too. Is that all you needed?"

"No. I need a key that will open every door in this house and was wondering if you could provide one," she said.

"If you're trying to get out, it won't do you any good," he said. "Even my powers can't open the front door."

"I'm not trying to get out. There's a gang of demons out to get my husband and me because we've been turned into Muggles. We'd just like to be able to lock ourselves somewhere out of the way."

"In that case, I may be able to help you. Meet me by the buffet table."

The god rose from his hiding place and sauntered out of the ballroom with affected casualness. From the hidden corridor, Hermione located an opening behind the buffet table. She opened it a crack when he arrived, where he made a show of selecting olives from the table to block her from onlookers.

"I have what you need," said Janus, holding a small silver key out to her, "but we've not yet discussed your offering."

"What kind of offering?"

"Well," he said, looking at Hermione thoughtfully, "children used to be a popular gift."

Hermione snorted. "For winning wars and the like, not for one lousy key."

Janus looked affronted. "I'll have you know that this 'lousy key' will open any interior lock in this manor house, from trophy case to dungeon. It's not quite as impressive as an enchanted mirror for slaying the Gorgon, but it is what you need. You're in no position to bargain."

"I did recall that you have a fondness for olives," she said, chastised. "I thought perhaps this special goose liver pâté might be to your taste."

He took the platter and examined it. "There are spiders on it."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say, and she was relieved when Janus smiled greedily. "I had no idea mortals knew how tasty they are, and so satisfyingly crunchy besides. Very well, I accept your offering. Here's your key. Actually, I'm relieved you didn't offer me your offspring. Mine are all grown, and starting all over again holds no appeal whatsoever. Still, I had to suggest it. It is tradition, after all."

Hermione thanked him, and Janus nodded. He hid himself behind a nearby column, munching on the foie gras. Hermione spotted a werewolf heading towards them and shut the secret door quickly.

Hermione tied the key to the end of her belt with the strongest knot she knew. Luna was hovering nervously, looking left and right.

"What is it, Luna? Are they coming?"

In response, Luna seized her hand and began running in the direction of the sitting room, and Hermione stumbled after her, almost instantly winded, and body crying out in protest. They passed the sitting room and ran past several more doors before Luna skidded to a stop and frantically gestured for Hermione to slip into a crawlspace. Hermione gasped for breath, her body and baby settling uncomfortably, and Luna barely had time to slide in next to her and change color before two house-elves came by carrying loads of cloth.

"Taddy says it's wrong," said the first elf, who had been stripped of his livery and whose arms were filled with yellow cloth. Hermione's breath caught in her throat when she realized that it was the same color as Minerva McGonagall's costume.

"Winky isn't asking Taddy," said the second elf primly, her arms also full of fabric. "Winky will do as master says, and Taddy is a bad elf to talk so."

"Winky is the bad elf," said Taddy angrily, opening the door to a large gallery with his elbow. "Winky is happy to follow master because Headmistress is paying her. She has no family loyalty because Winky isn't good enough to serve an old family like the Malfoys."

Winky stamped her foot. "Taddy is a foolish elf who doesn't know anything. If he did, he would not speak so! The master is the greatest of us all, and he is kind."

"What the master is doing tonight is not kind! It is wicked and cruel, and it has nothing to do with making us free."

Winky looked at him, pity in her eyes. "Taddy is ignorant. He will learn. He will see. Master is freedom. Not clothes. Clothes is wizards' ultimate punishment, knowing that most elves will die before taking pay. He is true freedom- freedom to serve as we wish. Freedom not to take pay. Freedom to leave cruel masters."

Taddy's bottom lip began to tremble. "If what master does here is freedom, Taddy doesn't want it." He threw his pile of clothing to the ground.

"Taddy, you is part of this," said Winky, her voice hard. "You is agreeing to join us for freedom and follow master when he appears. He is already making you free tonight. It is too late for you to be going back."

"Taddy will be helping his real master and mistress escape your master," he said angrily.

Winky shook her head. "The master is already forcing them to give you freedom tonight. They will not believe you is wanting to help them. You is hearing what your old mistress said about punishment. Wizard law is not for house-elves. Without wizards to speak for Taddy, he will never serve again."

Taddy's eyes were filled with tears. "Taddy is a good elf," he whispered. "Taddy wants only to be free.Taddy is not wanting revenge."

"Taddy must understand that other elves is angry. Every elf is knowing that the Malfoys is beating and flogging house-elves, and that is why they is made examples of.'

"They is never beating or flogging Taddy," he exclaimed passionately. "They is very proper masters when they has good servants."

"Other elves is hearing differently," said Winky, obviously not wishing to argue. "Taddy will see that it is better with master, but even if Taddy does not wish to follow master after tonight, he will be free to go. This is what master represents. Now, we has a job to do."

She kicked the pile of cloth Taddy had dropped towards him. "The house is getting colder the longer we has it under our spell, and we is wanting the other guests to sleep, instead of fighting with each other to stay warm. Remember- wizards must not be seeing us."

Taddy scrubbed tears from his protuberant blue eyes and did as he was bidden, snapping his fingers to shut and lock the great doors that connected gallery to the rest of the house. He followed Winky as she threaded through the makeshift menagerie, laying blankets atop the shivering animals.

A sudden yell from Taddy made her jump. "Winky! Winky! A wizard!"

He was pointing to a man buried in Horklumps who, Hermione realized with a sinking heart, was Ron.

"Are you a demon sent to torment me?" he asked. "If so, you're too late. There is no love, no joy, no thought left to drive from me."

Winky peered at him. "He used to be a wizard, but the magic made him a Muggle. Taddy must ignore it."

The two elves went about their task, and Hermione had time to think. When the elves finished with their work, would unlock and reopen the main doors at the far end of the gallery, which would leave Ron vulnerable to Voldemort's minions. Their escape had to be soon. Very soon.

Once the elves had covered the last of the shivering creatures from the unnatural chill in the room, Hermione took a deep breath. Luna shifted uncomfortably, but Hermione squeezed her paw reassuringly.

"HOUSE-ELVES!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "BRING ME SOME DECENT FOOD AT ONCE!"

The elves jumped as if stung and disappeared with a deafening crack.

Luna rolled off her, helped Hermione to her feet, and moved aside so Hermione could collect her husband.

"Come on, Ron. Let's go."

"Do not call me by that name," said Ron dramatically, "for Peter Abelard is dea- hang on, what did you just call me?"

"I called you Ron. It's your name. Ron Weasley. I'm your wife."

"Cruel woman sent to taunt me!" cried Ron. "I have neither wife nor position nor reputation, thanks to you! As St. Augustine said-"

"Bugger St. Augustine!" said Hermione, her fists planted firmly on her hips. "Get up now and come with me. They'll be back any second!"

"I shall live amongst the mushrooms," he said, consulting a piece of parchment he'd written on, "for when I extinguish and leave- sorry, that's languish and leave this earthly plane, I may bring them new life."

"They're not mushrooms," said Hermione, losing patience and seizing Ron by the arm. "They're Horklumps, and you're likely to get eaten by a band of gnomes or killed by Harry's minions if you stay there. Now, move your sorry arse before I have Luna carry you."

"I- I-" sputtered Ron indignantly, on his feet at last.

A loud banging sound came from the gallery doors, as of a dozen feet attempting to kick them open.

"Come on!" she hissed, seizing his hand and dragging him back into the passageway. She slapped frantically at the button and the secret door closed just as the main door gave way.

"Not a word," she whispered to him. "Come on, Luna, let's- Luna?" Hermione's stomach dropped. "She's probably just disappeared," she said to Ron. "This is no time to be shy, Luna. We need to get Ron upstairs."

They waited in silence for a moment, but the only sound was that of henchmen laughing, knocking over furniture and sculptures, and harassing the animals in the next room. Hermione suddenly felt very alone, a feeling that quickly escalated to terror as she heard several sets of footsteps coming down the corridor toward them.

She seized Ron's hand, but before they could run, powerful arms seized Hermione under the armpits and lifted her up into the darkness so quickly that she didn't have time to scream.

A hand was pressed to her mouth, and Hermione could hear Ron's muffled protests. She felt absurdly relieved that Ron was with her, for all that he had been rendered as helpless as she.

She was perched on a crossbeam of sorts directly above the corridor that opened into the gallery. Her captor seemed to realize that she was not going to make noise and released her mouth. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw Ron squirming, alone on a neighboring crossbeam, and she belatedly realized Luna was holding him. Hermione stiffened, unsure who was holding her. Luna caught her eye and nodded.

"Hold still, woman," whispered a familiar voice in her ear.

Severus. Hermione just managed to hold herself still as she realized that she was in Severus's lap, with Severus's arms clasped tightly around her. His warm breath sent gooseflesh rippling down her arms.

However, her attention was soon drawn to the small group of house-elves that was gathering in the corridor below them.

She was startled to recognize Kreacher, Harry's house-elf, standing beside Winky and a third elf that she didn't know. They were conversing in whispers, and Kreacher's voice rumbled far beneath the other two. Occasionally, one of the elves would look through the peephole into the gallery.

She sat as quietly as she could, but she couldn't hear a word as long as they continued whispering. Hermione took the opportunity to study the third elf, wondering if he was perhaps the elusive master that Winky had described. After studying him for a moment, she decided that this was unlikely. While the elf's whisper was impassioned, he was obviously much younger than Winky and Kreacher, and he seemed to defer to Winky's orders.

After a time, the three apparently decided that they were in no danger, and began speaking in normal voices.

"Then we is agreed?" asked Winky. "We will not tell master of this?"

"Master has more important matters to be concerned with," boomed Kreacher. "Kreacher must be returning to the job master has assigned him."

Winky gave him a thin smile. "Master is not assigning it, Kreacher is begging to help punish Harry Potter."

Severus's hand was over her mouth just in time to muffle her gasp.

"Just as Winky is asking to help punish Hogwarts Headmistress," said the third elf snidely. "I is guarding the wands as master commanded, and I is serving without stipulations. You both is too focused on revenge."

"Noddy knows freedom is having a price," said Winky. "One price is doing things you is not necessarily liking. Besides, we is only doing to them what they is doing to us."

"Master is supposed to be leading us to freedom, not revenge," said Noddy.

"Master is not telling us to stop," said Kreacher. "He understands the insult that Harry Potter gave. He knows it is why so many house-elves is following him to freedom. He is allowing house-elves to win freedom and teach by example what happens to bad masters."

"Noddy will be talking to master," threatened the younger elf. "We will be seeing who is right."

He set off down the corridor. Kreacher and Winky looked at one another, then followed after. When the sound of their footfalls had faded from hearing, Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

Ron also seemed to realize that it was now safe to talk, largely because Luna had removed her paw from his mouth. "What fell beasts now bind me?" he asked "What perverted animalistic schemes now plague me?"

"You are certainly in a common class with beasts," said Hermione, nettled. "Your every action is concerned with seeking bodily pleasure and avoiding pain."

"You quote from St. Augustine, whom you had just slandered so unjustly!" cried Ron triumphantly.

"'One may learn wisdom, even from a fool,'" responded Hermione. "Aristophanes."

"You quote a heathen," scoffed Ron. "'He utters sound without mind,' says the Venerable Bede."

Hermione smirked at her husband. "You have obviously forgotten- Bede borrowed those words from Virgil, another heathen. Your entire argument is thus invalidated."

Ron scowled at her. "Then with your heathen Homer I respond that there is strength in the union even of very sorry men."

Hermione smiled, but there was no triumph in it. "I could respond from the heathen Seneca, who never minded quoting a bad author when the line was good, but I know you would disregard the wisdom out of spite for cultural differences. As Basil of Caesarea once observed, many men curse the rain, forgetting that it brings abundance."

"It is clear, my dear Heloise, that neither of us will convince the other. Let us instead talk of our Astrolabus. He is well? You are well?" He gestured toward Hermione's belly.

Hermione's hand pressed protectively on her stomach. "Cicero suggested that one only appeals to passion when he cannot use his reason."

"Socrates had the right of it!" cried Ron, throwing his hands in the air. "Get a good wife and be happy. Get a bad one and you'll be a philosopher!"

"Then I can argue no more," said Hermione. "Aesop warned that the eagle is sometimes slain with arrows fletched with its own plumes."

"That is hardly a concession," said Ron. "You merely suggest that I argue unfairly. From Timothy: 'I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.'"

"'You have been weighed in the balance and have been found wanting.' David."

Ron scowled. "It's impossible to argue with you when you make it personal like that."

"So calling me a bad wife through Socrates was just a rhetorical device?"

In unspoken agreement, Severus and Luna put their hands over their respective captives' mouths.

"It was bad enough to hear you bickering in your own persons, but bickering through theological scholarship is simply too much. There is work to be done, and extraneous babbling is likely to mask the sounds of our enemies approaching."

Hermione's jaw had dropped behind Severus's hand at the word "babbling" and had not yet returned to normal.

"Is there any reason you're gaping like a codfish, Ms. Granger?

"The Tower," she said, awestruck. "Babel."

"I thought I put a moratorium on quotation and allusion."

"This is Genesis and highly relevant. 'If, as one people speaking the same language, they build this tower, then nothing will be impossible for them. I will confuse their language so they will not understand each other.'"

"While scripture is no doubt fascinating to those who are interested in that sort of thing, I fail to see how this is pertinent. We're still no closer to finding Lucius and Narcissa. Perhaps you have had your domestic troubles to distract you from the important things. I've had no such luxury."

"If you think domestic troubles are a luxury, you've a very skewed outlook," retorted Hermione. "And I haven't forgotten why we're here. In fact, I have some interesting things to report at your leisure."

"Then by all means, let us adjourn to my study for cognac and a pipe," said Severus, tone scathing. "We've no time for ceremony. Just tell me what you know."

Hermione told the tale of Harry's Muggle hunt, the human thumbprint in the spider pâté, Janus's key, and Taddy and Winky's argument. "I assume that you and Luna found each other you when I went to get Ron out of the gallery."

"Dragged me into a wall is more like," said Severus. "Now, if you can be persuaded to explain why you found that bit of scripture so interesting?"

Hermione smiled triumphantly. "I should think it blindingly clear, seeing as we're not speaking English, are we, Severus?"

"No, we're not," he replied. "Fortunately, Latin is a language with which I have more than passing familiarity."

"I feel like an idiot for not figuring it out when you told me I was speaking French. But it makes sense. We haven't just become our costumes physically; as the evening goes on, we're forgetting our common language. The longer this goes on, the less likely it is that we'll be able to stop it because we won't be able to understand one another."

"I had assumed as much to be true."

Hermione frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because as fascinating as it may be to you, it's unimportant. We're still able to communicate, which is more than most people at this party can claim, and the mystery is unraveling quickly enough that we should all be returned to our own persons before we are in any danger of turning into our costumes permanently."

A cold weight settled into Hermione's stomach. "Do you think that's a possibility?"

"It is an ancient magic that was used here tonight, Hermione. It is not one that I know intimately, but my own observations lead me to conclude that we are becoming more and more like our costumes as the evening progresses, not simply in terms of language. However, I don't think we need to be concerned yet. Based upon what we have overheard, I am confident that we will be able to end the spell."

"How so? We still don't know the identity of this mysterious master who is behind it all."

"We know that the master is someone that Potter has managed to frustrate. This narrows it down to several hundred people."

"I think the field is considerably narrower," said Hermione. "The master also kidnapped Lucius and Narcissa and has liberal views on house-elve freedom."

"Do you know any such person?"

Hermione smiled as an absurd thought occurred to her. She quickly dismissed it. "No, no such person."

"Well, even if the master remains a mystery, at least we know where they are."

"Yes, the kitchens," said Hermione absently.

Severus started. "How in blazes did you know that?"

"The spider pate," explained Hermione. "I think the elves are forcing Lucius and Narcissa to work in the kitchen. They've been trying to signal us by ruining the food. Why, how did you figure it out?"

She felt Severus shake, as if he were trying to suppress laughter. "Simple deduction," he said nonchalantly. "The kitchens are all but impossible to access without either a key to the dungeons or being a house-elf. They could not have found a more defensible place to make their stand."

"Why are the kitchens so hard to access?"

"To prevent enemies from poisoning the family's food, I suspect," said Severus. "Malfoys are not generally known for their trusting naïveté. It's all rather fitting when you think of it. The Malfoys are trapped in their own impenetrable kitchen."

"They've taken Minerva McGonagall, too."

"Knowing Minerva's policies on house-elves, they're likely trying to force her to accept payment for something and wondering why she hasn't died of shame."

"Please be serious, Severus," she said. "There is real potential for disaster if we

aren't able to restore people to their true shapes."

"You still know yourself. If you didn't, you'd be writing Weasley impassioned letters instead of coming up with learned ways to insult him."

Hermione closed her eyes, as if seeking strength from a higher power. "Heloise didn't fall for Abelard because he was handsome and charming," she explained. "The minute he set his eyes on her, she was his, not because of what he looked like, but because of who he was. He was her teacher, her mentor, someone whose intelligence and strength in the face of adversity fascinated her. There's still enough of Ron in Abelard to make him anathema to Heloise, and there's another man who fits the profile."

He frowned. "I don't take your meaning."

"Don't be obtuse," she said, scowling. "Now, can you truly maintain that the transformations are superficial given Rita Skeeter's midnight prophecy, Harry's violent anti-muggle campaign, and Draco's ability to give me a key that opens every interior door in Malfoy Manor? I'd argue that we need to act quickly."

"'We?'"

"Yes, we. Now, let's go get Lucius and Narcissa from the kitchens," she said, shifting herself and preparing to drop downwards into the passageway. "Unless I miss my guess, the wands will be not far from where they are."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Like what?"

"Your husband."

Hermione paused and looked at Ron, who had fallen asleep in Luna's arms. For her part, Luna was holding him close to her chest as if he were a giant baby. Hermione swore the Demiguise was smiling.

She shifted to face Severus. "You think we'll need his help?"

"Of course not."

"Do you think he'll be in danger with Luna?"

"Doubtful," he said, sounding as if it hurt to admit it.

"Then let's go," she said, seizing Severus's hands. "Lower me down."

Severus helped her down with a scowl. "What makes you think that a Muggle will be of any use on a rescue mission?"

She untied the key from her belt and held it up. "I'm a Muggle who has the key. I am terribly curious to know what the elves have done to Lucius and Narcissa."

Severus leapt down next to her, snatched the key from her hand and held it high above her head. "Do you have any idea how well the kitchens are defended?"

"Give that back!"

Severus put the key in his pocket. "Ms. Granger, the kitchens are located in the dungeons behind spells that do not take kindly to strangers, and you are in no condition to be running headfirst into strange magic."

"How on earth could you know that?"

"That is beside the point. The crux of the matter is that I will not allow you to endanger us both simply because you are anxious to test your pet theory."

She started to protest but Severus held up his hand to silence her. "I am not belittling you, I am simply stating a fact. You tire easily, you are not agile, you have no wand, and most importantly, you have no magic. And there is your impending offspring to consider. While I feel that the world would be a safer, saner, and more intelligent place with one fewer Weasley in it, I doubt your husband or his family would agree."

Hermione threw up her hands. "So what do you expect me to do, sit around and knit?"

Severus blinked at her in surprise, but his expression quickly shifted into a sneer. "Your husband will wake eventually, and he'll bray all evening unless he has his diaper changed and a good suckle. Do what you like, Ms. Granger, but stay out of my way."

"You unmitigated bastard," she said in a quiet, furious voice. "I'm not a student that you can order about and dismiss."

"As none of you have house-elves in your service, you should be safe from further elf mischief tonight," he said, ignoring her. "I'll lock the sitting room door to prevent you from being molested by any of Potter's gang."

He turned on his heel and jogged off down the passageway.

"As if you care!" shouted Hermione as he slipped into the sitting room.

A gentle whuffing sound from behind her made her turn. Luna had swung down from the crossbeam, with Ron still asleep in her arms. She looked reproachfully at Hermione.

Hermione hated to admit it, but Severus had a point. After all the tearing about she'd done earlier, her body was ready to give out. Her stomach wasn't entirely settled, and Astrolabus- Hugo, she corrected herself sternly- was squirming and kicking, as if he wanted her to chase down Snape.

"Fine," she said crossly. "Let's get Ron to the sitting room. He'll be safe there."

Luna padded down the passageway toward the sitting room with Ron in her arms.

Hermione scowled and followed after.

SIXOFWANDSSDNAWFOXIS


	7. Chapter 7

See Chapter One for disclaimer

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

Chapter Seven: Three of Swords

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

Hermione sat on the sofa, radiating ill humor. Severus had locked the door that lead from the sitting room into the ballroom and pointedly ignored her snit on his way back into the hidden corridor. She had halfheartedly tried to convince him that he was wrong to leave her behind, but he ignored her, and, as she grudgingly admitted, it was probably the right thing to do. This made her even more annoyed.

Oblivious to her wrath, Luna was seated in a wing chair by the fireplace with Ron on her lap. His head was buried in her soft fur, and he emitted a soft snuffling snore that Hermione knew from experience would become window-rattling once he had properly nodded off. Luna was gently grooming his hair and staring off into space, her characteristically inscrutable expression made even more so by her fur.

Hermione's gaze fell upon the cards on the coffee table, which were still in the spread the Oracle had done for her. She picked up the Empress and studied the card. A crowned woman who wore a dress not unlike her own was seated on the throne, a shield propped on one knee and a scepter against her shoulder, gazing serenely forward. Hermione's eyes were drawn to the card, which had been leafed with silver. The shield shone in the firelight.

Hermione set the card where it had been, over the upside-down Lovers. An obvious card, in Hermione's opinion, given the nearly public dressing down she'd given her husband earlier that evening. Ron always seemed to be at his most obnoxious when she was forced to spend long periods of time with him, such as during maternity leave, when she had no opportunity to stay at work late or play cards with the girls. If tonight had been any indication, the next few weeks would be positively cataclysmic.

Her eye next fell on the Tower, whose meaning she had divined but whose influence she had no way to escape. The Oracle claimed that this was due to the reversed Wheel of Fortune, which looked like a spinning wheel with grotesque animals clinging to its rim, turning steadily but not rapidly enough to dislodge them.

The creatures danced before her eyes, and she found herself gazing into the red eyes of the Devil, whom she interpreted to be the so-called master. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, massaging her eyeballs. The card's afterimage lingered for a moment in her vision, its colors in negative.

Her eyes flew open in surprise, and she stared at the Devil, whose reversed position made his batlike wings appear upon first glance to be large ears. The afterimage swum in her mind's eye, which made his eyes flash from red to green, and again the absurd thought about the identity of the master flitted through her mind.

The only person she'd ever known to feel as passionately as she did about house-elves and freedom had been Dobby the house-elf. However, two very obvious facts had led her to dismiss his candidacy as the master. One, that he was dead, and two, the master obviously felt some ill-will towards Harry.

Still, Samhain was the night that traditionally blurred the line between life and death. The existence of the Resurrection Stone and Philosopher's Stone certainly made resurrection and eternal life possible, two things that Muggles considered to be miraculous.

However, this was not the time to focus on magic and religion nor to consider impossibilities. She shook her head, dismissing the train of thought and took stock of the other cards in the Oracle's spread.

Death- that had to be Harry as Voldemort. The Oracle had all but said that the High Priestess and the Hanged Man were Narcissa and Lucius, and the assistance that she was to receive from the Chariot and the Moon- well, who else could the Moon be but Luna? She'd been an enormous help. The chariot shone with silver, and she quickly identified it as Draco. And exactly how did Severus fit into the spread?

She gazed at the western cards. The Hierophant, which represented the Oracle herself, and the ill-dignified Hermit, who was holding up a lantern and leaning forward, as if trying to see through a thick fog. Obstinacy and isolation indeed, thought Hermione, examining the card, seeing the familiar lines of Severus's face superimposed over the Hermit's.

The stubborn fool was going to take on the house-elves without a wand, with nothing but his wits. Of course, she was no better. All she had was a slumbering idiot, a Demiguise with mothering issues, and a body that was awkward and uncomfortable no matter how she shifted.

So preoccupied was she with the cards that the click of the door being unlocked made her jump, adrenaline singing through her body. She seized a bronze statuette from the table and raised it above her head.

To her surprise, Draco's, or Janus's, silver face appeared around the door.

"I thought I might find you here," he said. "It was the only door that was locked."

"I thought you gave me your key," she said, faint with relief.

Janus wiggled his fingers. "I'm a god."

"So, to what do I owe the honor of your company?"

"I'm tired of hiding behind the sofa," said Janus. "Everyone's lost their sense of purpose, there's no more pâté, and all the interesting guests are disappearing."

"Who else?"

"Well, after that carpenter who offered to build me an altar, there was that snake fellow with the red eyes. It's downright dull out there, since none of the monarchs can decide who reigns supreme. Oh!" he exclaimed, kneeling by the coffee table. "Are you playing cards?"

"The Oracle did this reading for me," said Hermione, sinking on to the sofa. "I've been trying to figure it out."

"You must be bored, too."

"To tears," she agreed. "Professor Snape stole the key you gave me and went off on his own."

"I could inactivate it," offered Janus.

"No, he's the only chance our hosts have. I don't think I'm quite up for a rescue mission," said Hermione.

Janus examined the cards on the table. "What are these cards supposed to mean?"

"The Oracle said that the cards in the shape of a big cross are the major influences, and the ones up there in a row are the path."

"It's an awfully short path," he remarked, bending low to examine it.

"And most of it calamitous," she said acidly, settling herself in the wing chair opposite Janus. "The Oracle says it ends with indecision and fear."

The god frowned. "That's not very helpful. When I guide my devotees, I give them more than that."

"That's why I gave the pâté to you instead of Apollo," said Hermione. "Hang on, did you just say you guide your devotees?"

"All of us gods do," said Janus, "some more fully than others."

"Well, can you do that for me? I could really use an idea of what to do."

"That's the sort of guidance that necessitates something special," said Janus, eyeing her swollen belly.

"I thought you didn't want any children."

"I don't, but rules are rules."

"Sorry, Janus. He's off limits."

"A son?" asked Janus wistfully. "Too bad we couldn't have made a deal."

"It's good to see that your ever-amusing fickleness survived the house-elves' spell."

The god shrugged expressively and returned to examining the cards, his silver brow wrinkling impressively.

And then Hermione saw it.

"What is it?" asked Janus in response to her gasp.

"Don't move," said Hermione. She leaned forward and stared at Janus's face.

In his face she could see the path reflected, the five cards in reverse order, doubling the length of the spread. And due to the contours and lines in his face, each of the cards was upside down from how it appeared on the table.

"Will scratching my nose disturb your inspiration?" asked Janus.

Hermione gave him a look, which made him smile.

The change in his expression ruined the perfect reversed reflection, but Hermione had already seen what she needed to see of the path. Now, Janus's forehead perfectly reflected the bookshelf that obscured the house-elves' passageway.

Of course.

Impulsively, she embraced the god fondly and planted a kiss on his silver cheek.

"What was that for?"

"For showing me the way."

Janus frowned. "But I didn't do anything."

"Now's your chance to remedy that. Can you read Latin?"

"Does Jupiter make sport of the Vestals?"

"Then let's get reading," she said, crossing awkwardly to the bookshelf and removing several brightly-colored volumes. "We're looking for anything that mentions house-elves, no matter how trivial the reference seems."

She propped a book up on her stomach and began to read. The child within poked a foot or arm into its spine, and her insides protested. She sat up straight, a look of grim determination on her face. Don't you dare, she silently admonished the child within her. Now is not a good time. The baby chose that moment to kick, and Hermione's insides tightened into what was either indigestion or a very early contraction.

Hermione scowled. Even if it were a contraction, there were still untold hours to go before the child's arrival, and Severus would need their help. She ignored her body's twinges and continued to read.

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT

Severus crept down the passageway that skirted the edge of the dungeon, which still smelled of old blood even after many years of disuse. Perhaps the ferrous tang was due to the corroding iron bars, but the smell was still an unwelcome reminder of a past he was content to leave behind. However, he owed it to Lucius and to Lily's son to set things right.

He shook his head. What had Lily Potter to do with anything?

A memory of shining red hair flashed in his mind's eye, so vivid it took his breath away.

He pulled himself from the memory just in time to hear footsteps heading toward him and to heave himself up onto a crossbeam. Two house-elves passed beneath him with trays of rotten food.

While he waited for them to pass, more vague memories insinuated themselves in his consciousness: laughing with Lily, holding Lily as she wept, and the tremulous smile that she reserved just for him.

With an extraordinary mental effort, Severus banished the memories from his head. What was he doing, reliving times with lovers lost when there was work to be done? The voice of his conscience was mocking, and Severus was confused. Had Lily been his lover?

The house-elves were gone, he realized belatedly, releasing the crossbeam around which he had wrapped his arms. He lowered himself to the ground, furious that his hands were shaking but unable to do anything to stop it.

Draught of Peace, he thought, mentally listing the ingredients and brewing instructions as he skulked down the passageway. But the potion was not enough to distract him from infuriating thoughts of Lily and her housemates.

He could feel his heart pounding, and he leaned against the masonry to rest, deliberately unclenching his fists as he banished the memories to the deepest recesses of his mind.

But where had these memories come from? They were his and at the same time not his. He vaguely recalled that he and Lily had been acquainted before Hogwarts, but he could recall only the vaguest memories of interacting with her at school. And yet with every step he took towards the kitchens he remembered more.

Moist fumblings in the Room of Requirement that left them both exhilarated and terrified. Her shrill voice as she berated him for going to an after-curfew meeting with Lucius. His insistence that she do her part as a Prefect to stop the Gryffindor upperclassmen from hazing the lower forms. Being hoisted aloft by his own spell while she stood unwilling to denounce James Potter and Sirius Black, even after the werewolf incident. The echo of his heartbreak and the soft hoof beats of a silver doe that comforted him, haunted him, his best and worst memory.

Severus swallowed hard and forced his feet to move forward, stifling the memories with every bit of Occlumency skill he possessed. He was Severus Snape, war hero. The Marauders were all dead, the last of their progeny beyond their pernicious influence. Healing was underway, and there was no sense in opening old wounds. And yet he found gaping holes where he had not known there had been any injury. What had happened?

And suddenly, it hit him: Potter.

Potter had needed to understand. Before he had succumbed to the Living Death Draught he'd mixed with the antivenin that had saved his life, Severus vaguely recalled releasing memories pertinent to his motives, memories that Potter had needed. Or more likely, Miss Granger had realized what they were and kept them from evaporating, he thought with a smirk.

Were the memories he had given away now regaining their hold on him? The corridor was growing warmer, and he could hear another set of footsteps approaching. He barely had time to clamber onto an overhead beam, his muscles protesting, before the elves appeared.

Severus shook his head. He had to get a grip on himself, otherwise he was no better than those sentimental Gryffindor cretins he had taunted mercilessly .Whatever memories had previously lain dormant must not shake him from his course.

Once the elves had gone, he dropped quietly to the floor. He paused in front of a peephole, which gave him a view of the lowest dungeon cell where the Dark Lord had kept Ollivander. He heard elves coming from upstairs, and he pressed the button to open a small door into the cell, just large enough for a house-elf to enter and clean or deliver food.

He squeezed through the opening and shut the door behind him, holding his breath until the elves passed him. When they had gone, he slipped Janus's key through the bars and unlocked the cell door. The iron lock took some finessing, but soon he was in the dungeon's central corridor, balancing on his toes to dampen the sound of his footsteps as he neared his destination.

At the end of the sloping corridor was the heavy oak door of a small room in which the head jailor would have passed his evening. He knew that the room was filled with implements of torture, weapons, and most importantly, dozens of panes of Spy Glass that allowed him to see what was happening in the different areas of the dungeon, including the kitchens. The Spy Glass would be vital to his rescue attempt. He slipped inside the jailor's study and shut the door behind him. It was pitch dark in the room, and he groped along the wall for some sort of light.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flared to life, and Severus found himself squinting at a house-elf who was clad in a black robe and seated in the jailor's chair watching the Spy Glass.

The elf turned to face him, and Severus recognized him. It was the elf who had been Potter's friend. What was his name? Toddy? Nobby?

Whatever the elf's name, he snapped his fingers, and Severus was unable to move, bound by conjured ropes.

"You is trespassing," squeaked the elf, turning to face him with a slightly nervous look on his face.

"I live in this house," said Severus.

"Not in the dungeon," said the elf, with more confidence. "You is in a place belonging to the elves. Nobody is wanting it, not the house master, so we has taken it. Leave now, and the elves will not be harming you."

"Dobby," said Severus, as he finally recalled the elf's name. "Apparently I'm not the only one whose death has been wildly exaggerated," said Severus.

'No, Dobby really was dead. Dobby has returned to seek revenge against cruel masters and lead all house-elves to freedom."

Severus blinked then burst out laughing. "Regretted dying for Potter, did you? There's no shame in it. I supposedly did so myself."

The elf looked highly affronted. "Dobby is serious! Dobby is master of all house-elves and wields great magic for his cause!"

Severus surreptitiously tested the strength of his bonds and found that he had room to wiggle. He had to keep the elf talking. "You came back from the dead all on your own, then?"

The elf scowled. "Three powerful elves is performing an ancient rite in Old Elf Tongue to bring Dobby back."

Severus recalled the three elves whose discussion he had overheard: the mad Hogwarts Elf Winky, Potter's elf Kreacher, and the pacifist elf Noddy. They were obviously high on the chain of command- perhaps they were the three.

To keep Dobby talking, he snorted derisively. "Why on earth would anyone wish to bring you back from the dead?"

"All elves is wanting me to seek revenge against Harry Potter."

Severus was so surprised that he stopped loosening his bonds. It always came back to Potter. "What on earth are you talking about? I thought Lucius and Narcissa were your former masters. What has Harry Potter to do with it? I seem to recall that he gave you a hero's burial."

Dobby sighed again and slumped in his chair. "Harry Potter is giving Dobby the greatest gift of freedom, but house-elves is not seeing it that way. To house-elves, tricking the house master into releasing Dobby was cruel, but not so cruel as Harry Potter burying Dobby in the ground, far away from his serving homes."

"They'd rather you were one of the heads on the wall at Grimmauld Place?"

"To display an elf's head at his place of servitude is the highest honor," said Dobby. "For Dobby to die in his chosen master's service and then be buried far from him is something that the other elves is taking very seriously, and their anger is growing stronger over the years."

Severus stared at Dobby in disbelief. "You mean to say that Harry Potter has become a symbol of house-elf repression?"

Dobby nodded. "The story is whispered from elf to elf. Elves is telling it to their elflings. The three is deciding to bring Dobby back because they feel the time is right."

"I wonder that you cared. You were dead, after all."

Dobby shrugged. "Dobby is not caring about where he was buried, but he does want elves to be free."

"So this evening's fiasco is merely a distraction while you avenge yourself against house-elf owners."

"It is part of the punishment."

"The scandal for the Malfoys," said Severus. He hadn't realized that the elf had such cunning in him. It made him suspicious. "What's the rest of the punishment?"

"They is learning what it is like to be a house-elf." Dobby gestured towards a square of Spy Glass. "They is in the kitchens. See?"

Severus gazed at the scene before him and was relieved to see Lucius and Narcissa returned to their former selves, but his eyebrows rose in disbelief when he saw the nature of the elves' revenge.

Narcissa, who was still tangled in Lucius's robes, was frantically scrubbing the floor with a heavy wooden brush as an elf spat and threw kitchen filth at her. Lucius, whose hands were bleeding from a number of small cuts, was trying to cut potatoes into paper-thin slices. He flinched as an elf yanked his hair, and the blade slipped into his finger again.

Severus turned to Dobby furiously. "This isn't revenge," he hissed. "This is absurd."

"It is fitting," replied Dobby reluctantly. Severus wondered whose words he was repeating. "They who abused is being abused. She who foisted abundance without freedom is herself now being foisted upon."

"She who is-" he stopped himself when he spotted Minerva McGonagall sitting blindfolded in the corner surrounded by cakes and pies that two elves were force-feeding her.

Dobby droned on as if he hadn't spoken. "Harry Potter's actions are visited back upon him as well. Once we is finding and punishing the young house master and the elves in charge of the other punishments is satisfied, we will release the enchantments on the guests."

They were after Draco? "The young master hasn't lived in the house for years."

"Dobby is remembering what the young master did," replied Dobby hotly. "He is blaming his mischief on Dobby, and Dobby was punished often for it."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "And Minerva? By what justification do you hold her?"

"Those who mistreat house-elves must be punished," said Dobby, sounding rather unsure.

"Mistreat?" spat Severus. "All Minerva did was order them to accept pay as terms of their employment. If elves wanted freedom from her, all they needed to do was ask. It was their own misplaced pride that held them back. Your people are making her a scapegoat for misery they brought upon themselves "

"You is not understanding," said Dobby miserably. "If all elves is to follow Dobby, they is needing a sign of Dobby's leadership."

Severus gave the elf his most imperious glare. "You mean to say that you are torturing Harry Potter, who was your friend, to build support for your leadership?"

"It is the three that wants it!" wailed Dobby. "Dobby cannot refuse the three who brought him back!"

"If that were true, I'd say you've gone from no master to three," spat Severus, who had finally worked one hand free. "As things are, I know that you lie. One of the three speaks against revenge. You and he could oppose the other two, yet you allow the counsel of the two mad elves to sway you into torturing your friend."

Tears were beginning to leak out of Dobby's eyes. "Dobby isn't wanting them to hurt Harry Potter, but if Dobby is to punish his former master and mistress, he must be allowing other elves revenge, too."

Severus drew himself up to his full height and surreptitiously plucked a poker from beside the fireplace. "You are a pathetic, sniveling little worm, and you are abusing your ill-gotten leadership to seek personal revenge."

"The Malfoys is cruel masters, who are kicking, flogging, and beating house-elves," cried Dobby. "They is needing to be punished!"

Severus's response was to whip the poker through the air toward the elf's head, only to have it stopped centimeters from Dobby's face. The elf glared at him and snapped his fingers, once again immobilizing Severus.

"Since you has refused Dobby's offer to leave unharmed, you is joining the captives in the kitchens."

Dobby seized his arm in a surprisingly powerful grip, and before Severus could blink, they were standing in the kitchens.

One of the kitchen elves spotted them and bowed low.

"Former Master of Potions is needing work," said Dobby.

She nodded and produced a tiny whisk, no more than four inches long, of the sort used to stir sauces, and handed it to Severus.

"You is whipping the cream that is on the stove," she said to him. "Get to work."

The cream on the stove was in a vat that was so tall he could barely get his arm over the top. The elf smirked at him, then took Dobby's arm and led him off.

Wishing to buy himself some time, Severus began stirring the absurd whisk about in the cream, to little or no effect. He examined the kitchen around him.

There were four elves who wore Hogwarts tea towels and another three who wore pillowcases emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. The Malfoys owned two elves: Taddy the steward and Mimsy the cook and housekeeper. Dobby had disappeared again, presumably to watch them from the study. There would probably be at least one more elf guarding the wands, wherever they were, and possibly another guarding Potter, making a total of twelve elves.

Twelve. A formidable number. A number appropriate to justice, he recalled from his childhood, being the number of men and women in a Muggle jury. He heard a loud crack and felt a stinging sensation on his calf. One of the Hogwarts elves had snapped him with her tea towel.

"You is lazy," she said, glaring. "The harder you work, the sooner your task is finished."

He picked up the pace of his futile task, though his arm was already starting to ache. If he recalled the kitchen layout correctly, beyond the door to his right was the cold pantry, in which perishable items were stored, and through the door to his left was the wine cellar. The human-sized door leading to the dungeons practically glowed with protective magic. He didn't dare to attempt escape without his wand.

He had to find his wand, and he had to find Potter, both of which were likely to be hidden in the kitchen The fragrant smell of gingerbread was wafting through the kitchen, and it gave Severus an idea.

"Why has you stopped?" demanded the elf that had swatted him.

"If you please," said Severus, bowing his head in a performance of humility that would have done a Hufflepuff proud, "I thought I might add some ginger to the whipped cream to improve the flavor."

The elf scowled at the cream he had stirred. "It is not whipped."

"It will whip faster once the ginger is integrated."

The elf crossed her arms. "There is ginger in the pantry, just there. You is getting it, but you must be peeling it and chopping it finely, and we elves will be watching you!"

Severus bowed, slumping his shoulders so as not to arouse suspicion, and entered the pantry. An elf sat shivering on a small barrel. Severus smiled to himself. There was definitely something important hidden in the pantry.

"W-w-what is you w-w-wanting?" the elf asked, who was shaking so hard he was barely able to make himself understood.

"Ginger," said Severus promptly, gazing around him, noting buckets of fresh milk, entire sides of beef and pork, chickens and game, even fish and shellfish, as well as vegetables of every sort and description. Alas, there was no sign of Potter or the wands.

"It's on the l-l-left," chattered the elf, gesturing with his head so as not to remove his hands from his armpits.

Severus took his time searching where the elf had pointed. He noted that the elf had not moved from the barrel, even when he was clearly getting impatient.

"It is r-r-right in fr-fr-front of you!" he ground out in exasperation, gripping the topmost hoop on the barrel's edge in frustration.

"Where?" asked Severus innocently.

The elf seized a cucumber from the shelf behind him and threw it at Severus. It bounced off the bin that held the ginger root and landed next to Severus's foot.

"There!" said the elf angrily. "Now, t-t-take the g-g-ginger and get out of here!"

Severus bowed low, taking in the size, shape, and imperfections of the barrel. "Thank you. You've been most kind."

"G-g-get back to work!"

Severus did as he was told, but not without some self-congratulation. He took the monotony of preparing the ginger as an opportunity to strategize. The wands were in the cooled larder beneath a house-elf. He would need to be flushed somehow. Potter, by elimination, was almost certainly in the wine cellar.

He would stir the cream for another ten or fifteen minutes. Then he'd suggest that a splash of orange liqueur would make the ginger whipped cream even better. He would rescue Potter, the two of them would liberate the wands, and they'd turn the tables on the house-elves, assuming Potter would be alive and conscious.

It wasn't the best plan he'd come up with, but it would have to do.

THREEOFSWORDSSDROWSFOEERHT


	8. Chapter 8

See Chapter One for disclaimer

ACEOFCUPSSPUCFOECA

Chapter Eight: Ace of Cups Reversed

ACEOFCUPSSPUCFOECA

Hermione forced herself to stay focused on the words on the page, which wavered when she allowed her mind to wander. Her hands were smeared with inkblots as she and Draco pored over the legal books and took notes.

"Now this is interesting," drawled her divine companion, shifting back in his chair. "Do you know how to tell a male house-elf from a female house-elf?"

Hermione rubbed her dry eyes. "No, and I hope this is something that will help us."

"It'll help us tell male house-elves from female house-elves."

"Forget about it, then."

"I'll give you a clue: it has to do with their ears."

She sighed in exasperation. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Well, I might be able to separate out the wheat from the chaff more effectively if you'd give me some idea of what we're looking for."

She scowled at him. "You might have asked for clarification before you read me all those useless paragraphs on elvish naming conventions. Wizards give them short names for a reason, you know."

"It might have been important," said Draco lightly. Hermione strongly suspected he was having her on.

"We're looking for passages on how house-elves became enslaved in the first place and how that slavery is maintained over generations."

"Well, if that information is anywhere, it'll be here," said Draco. "Only legal books would have the precise details you need, even if they're buried in rules on monetary compensation for accidentally poisoning your neighbor's elf."

"My thoughts precisely," said Hermione. "I'm just not having any luck. Logic says that if giving house-elves clothes frees them from one's service, there must be some kind of opposite ceremony to take them into service. But the obvious opposite would be to take their clothes, and that doesn't make any sense- they don't have any."

"Perhaps there will be something in this one," said Draco. "Would an appendix containing a list of the influential families among whom the house-elves were distributed be helpful?"

"Is this after the attempted revolt in 1257 or the one in 1498?"

"1257."

"Then no. I'm most curious about the one in 1498. And really, it's not going to be that useful unless there's also an appendix-"

"On Maintaining Obedience Charms and Acceptance of Fealty from Elfish Offspring?"

"Yes." Hermione looked suspiciously at Draco. "Is there one?"

"No," he said with a smirk.

"Fine," she said, unfazed by his teasing. "I'll try the next volume in the series. At least yours is in the right subject area. Mine's on unfair business practices. You'd think it was common sense that you could get into trouble for making your rival's store unplottable."

She took _International Wizarding Statues 1504, Vol. 143_ from the pile next to her on the sofa and propped it up on her stomach. The baby, who was rightfully put out to have the weight of a large book resting on him, was kicking for all he was worth, and her insides gave another twinge. She laid her hand regretfully on her stomach. She didn't blame Hugo for wanting to get out. She just wished he had better timing.

An unpleasant thought occurred to Hermione. If they weren't able to restore everyone by the time the baby arrived, what would happen to him when the spell was broken? Hermione didn't like to think about that. Besides, she was still in Heloise's body and not her own. This was Heloise's first baby, and statistically, he was more likely to be born of a protracted labor, which gave her more time. Of course, the downside was that she was unlikely to be capable of helping for the majority of it.

Hermione didn't like to think about that either. Her labor with Rose had lasted over twenty-four hours, and she didn't fancy repeating the experience in another's body, particularly one with significantly narrower hips than her own. At least Heloise had survived her baby's birth, which was more than could be said for plenty of other eleventh–century women.

Her unsettling reverie was broken when she realized Draco was staring at her.

"Sorry?" she asked, propping her chin on her hand.

"I asked if you were all right. You looked worried."

"I'm fine," she said, absently scanning the table of contents of her book. "I'll be even better once I find what I'm – Merciful Merlin."

Eureka.

She quickly flipped to the appropriate chapter and read greedily, hardly noticing the stilted language.

"Of course," she murmured. "Not the opposite of giving. The opposite of _clothes_!"

"I don't follow," said Draco, who had been watching her curiously. 

"You will. I think I've got it, but we need to move quickly. Luna, I need you to stay here with Ron. If anybody besides me or Draco, sorry, Janus, tries to enter, cover Ron and turn invisible."

The Demiguise was still cradling Ron's head protectively, which made Hermione wonder if her instructions were entirely redundant. She sighed. Even if they never returned to their regular selves, at least Abelard would have someone who adored him unconditionally.

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One thwarted rescue attempt later, Severus was beginning to gain a new appreciation for the writings of Jean Paul Sartre, since there was no discernable exit from this particular hell.

"This is all your fault, Potter."

Potter's laugh was a bark from all the screaming he had done. "How d'you figure?"

"You had to do the noble thing and bury the elf."

"Not like it would have made any difference if I'd left him behind. The elves still would have caught me, and I'd still be buried alive."

"For Circe's sake, Potter, I've told you, the coffin isn't buried. We're in the Malfoy's wine cellar."

"But I heard the worms burrowing into the wood, trying to get at me."

"It's only that mad elf of yours from Grimmauld Place scratching his fingernails on the rate."

"I must have been in here weeks."

"Try two hours," said Severus, discreetly testing the strength of the coffin's hinges with one elbow.

"We'll run out of air soon," whispered Potter.

"This coffin isn't airtight," said Severus evenly. "Look, you can see light through the joints."

"We'll asphyxiate."

"Pretty word, Potter. Granger teach you that one?"

"The oxygen deprivation has started- my heart's racing."

"That's because you're working yourself up, you imbecile! Quit dithering, Potter. I always suspected that the accounts of you calmly facing death had to have been fiction."

"I had my family with me then. You think I want to die here with you?"

"For the last time, we're not going to die. They're punishing us and will let us go after a few hours."

"You're not house-elf enemy number one," said Harry. "Why would they put you in here with me?"

"I suspect it had something to do with knocking Kreacher unconscious with a bottle of '47 Bordeaux in an attempt to rescue you."

Severus could almost feel Potter's shocked stare. "You did that for me?" he said at last.

"No' he said sarcastically. "I did it for your mother."

Harry stiffened. "How could you know about that?"

Severus bit off a sharp retort. "Listen, Potter. This may come as a shock to you, but in cased you hadn't noticed, you're no longer your costume. Neither am I."

"But you still sound like Snape," said Harry, confused.

"That's because I am Snape," he said.

Harry was silent for a moment. "Now I know I must be dead."

"Use your brain, Potter. Did you really think I was thick enough to receive a warning from Dumbledore about that blasted snake, only to be taken by surprise when it turned on me? Only an idiot would look at the evidence and conclude that I was really dead, especially when my body was never found."

"Death Eaters took it," said Harry stubbornly. "The _Prophet_ said so."

"The _Prophet_ also said you were dangerous and deranged," snapped Severus.

"If we're both here together, it must be time for us to move on," said Harry. "I was here before. I liked it better when it looked like King's Cross Sta- OW!"

"I hope that will convince you that you're still among the living."

"You didn't have to pinch so hard!"

"And you didn't have to be a complete dunderhead, but here we are. Now Potter, tell me: what exactly was in the memories I left for you the day I allegedly died."

"You did die," said Harry stubbornly. "I saw you."

Severus had no space to properly draw back, and he couldn't see Potter, but that was no impediment to punching the younger man in the ribs.

"Sirius was wrong. Dying hurts," said Potter sulkily.

"I have not yet begun to kill you," said Severus. "Now, answer me this: What memories did I leave you?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Have you ever stored a memory in a Pensive for an extended period of time?" asked Severus.

"Well, no."

"The longer a memory is away from the mind that formed it, the less space it has to return to. The brain heals and closes its holes. After a time, it's as if the memory was never there."

"I still don't know-"

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, do you need to see my sodding National Health Service card?"

Potter was silent for a moment, thinking. At length, he shrugged.

"It was just some stuff about why you became a spy and how Dumbledore made you kill him."

"And why, exactly, do you believe I became a spy."

I know you loved my mum since before Hogwarts and that your hanging out with the Slytherins drove you apart. That you asked both Voldemort and Dumbledore to spare her and turned on Voldemort for killing her. That you loved her so much that your Patronus is still a doe."

Severus was mortified by Potter's recitation. "Ah."

"There was another scene I saw in your memories," said Potter, his voice betraying deep antipathy for the subject. "It's important, but I really don't like to think about it."

"Potter, the sooner you accept that many, many years ago I slept with your mother, the better off we'll be."

Severus realized his mistake a moment later as Harry's chest swelled from a shocked inhalation.

"WHAT??"

"Potter, it's not as bad as it sounds."

"I JUST MEANT THE TIME SIRIUS AND MY DAD SHOWED EVERYONE YOUR UNDERPANTS!" shouted Harry.

"Nothing came of it, obviously," said Severus bitterly. "She married your father soon after."

"SHE HAD ME 'SOON AFTER!'" Potter was getting a full head of steam going. "YOU MEAN THERE'S A CHANCE THAT YOU'RE MY FATHER?"

"Don't be an idiot, Potter," said Severus, amused. "You look nothing like me."

"They could have put a spell on me to look like him to protect your status as a spy," whispered Potter. "One day it could fade and I'll turn into you!"

"I take it back. Keep being an idiot, Potter. It helps to pass the time."

Potter was mercifully silent for a moment.

"I have to use the bathroom," he said at last.

Severus wondered if he was capable of a wandless _Avada Kedavra._

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Hermione and Draco opened the sitting room door and peered out into the ballroom. A vase of flowers came hurtling toward them. Draco yanked the door shut just in time to avoid being hit. A pool water began seeping under the door.

"Are you sure you want to go out there?" he asked.

"If you your superpowers can make us a more direct route the kitchens, I'd be delighted to take it," said Hermione.

Draco's silver brow furrowed. "Time was mortals trembled in my presence."

"In case it's escaped your notice, I am a monotheist, and as such, not allowed to honor any other gods."

"I am the only god physically present, and I've done you a great favor. Couldn't you venerate me at least a little?"

"Homer says that the gods particularly listen to him who obeys them. You are particularly listening to me, therefore, I must have obeyed you. Homer also says that the gifts of the gods are not to be cast aside, and as your gifts were in response to my ordering you about, I will keep ordering you about in thanks for your favor."

"I would that the great gods had followers such as you," grumbled Draco.

"I won't be nearly so full of quotations once we've restored everyone to normal."

"That's incentive enough for me," said Draco. "Are you absolutely sure you want to use the servant's stair near the dining room? The secret passages might be safer, even if there are elves."

Hermione shook her head. "We can't risk running into the house-elves before we get to the kitchens. We'd lose the element of surprise, and it's necessary for this plan to work. We have to take that stairway to the dungeons."

"You do realize that a giant, carnivorous plant has taken over half of the room?"

Hermione indicated the puddle of water left by the flying vase. "We also court death by Ming dynasty." She clutched the blue-bound book to her chest. "On three?"

Draco sighed, picked up Hermione, and kicked open the door

The ballroom was in chaos. Men and women, gods and goddesses, monsters, birds and beasts were embroiled in an enormous brawl, throwing food, vases, and pieces of furniture at one another. The Venomous Tentacula had grown all the way to the ceiling and was waving its tendrils about trying to devour the fairies and bats that swirled in panicked clouds around the ceiling. Sections of walls had been blown up and smoldered in the dim light, and the walrus had passed out in the champagne fountain, snoring so loudly as to nearly drown out the din of the battle.

Draco put his head down and tore across the battlefield, leaping over fallen fauns and moaning Auguries, escaping through the door on the other side of the room. Draco waved his hand in front of the door, and it locked behind them with a loud snick.

He set her down, and Hermione pressed her ear to the door. "I don't think we're being followed. I think the stair to the kitchens is just off the dining room, and it's bound to have all sorts of nasty enchantments on it. Do you think you'll be able to disable them?"

Draco smirked at her in reply.

She followed him through the ruined dining room, which had been strewn the spoiled food, and snapped his fingers at the door, which sprang open. Hermione wondered if the god was even capable of breaking a sweat. A plain wooden staircase spiraled downward into the gloom.

A sudden contraction, which was significantly stronger than the ones she'd had earlier sent her lurching for the handrail.

Draco steadied her, and she nodded her thanks.

The stairs seemed to go downwards forever, and the air grew cooler and more metallic. At last, they found themselves in a stone anteroom that was dominated by an enormous oak door whose cold iron hinges were carved with nasty-looking runes. Draco studied the lock for a moment before making a complicated series of gestures. The door swung open, allowing them entrance to the dungeons.

Hermione had never been in the dungeons before, and it was every bit as horrid as she had imagined from hearing her friends speak of it. She lowered her chin and tiptoed down the central corridor, Draco a few paces ahead of her.

Draco signaled her to stop in front of a door with a wicked-looking iron lock. Draco peered through the lock.

"It's the kitchen," he said. "I see seven elves, our hosts, and some other woman. They elves seem to be in charge."

"Do you see Severus?"

"No, he's not there."

Hermione's heart sank. He must have been captured trying to recover the wands. It was up to her now.

Draco placed his hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right? You're shaking."

"Publius Syrus says that it's foolish to fear what one cannot avoid. I'll be all right. You'd better hide after the door is open. If they capture me, you'll need to protect Luna and Ron."

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"No, but I've got to try."

Draco gave her shoulder a squeeze, then placed his hand on the door. The powerful magic of the lock hissed and faded away, and the kitchen door swung open.

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"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with D."

"You can't see darkness, Potter. Seeing denotes the act of perceiving light reflected off an object, and darkness is the absence of light."

"You never played any games when you were a child, did you?"

"Neither did you," said Severus. "What do you know about physics, Potter?"

"What's that got to do with anything?'

"There's a body of evidence that suggests that somehow you and I have accelerated to the speed of light."

"How d'you reckon?"

"Because we can't see anything, and time is going so slowly that it could start moving backwards at any time."

"Don't worry, sir. Hermione and Ron will rescue us."

"This from the boy who thought he was dead?"

"Well, now that I know that I'm not really buried alive and there aren't really worms coming to eat me, I'm thinking a bit more clearly."

"Happy day," said Severus sourly.

"Hermione's smart, and Ron's a good bloke who's, well, good at getting in the way of oncoming spells."

"That may be the most sense I've ever heard you make, but no, Ms. Granger will not be coming for us. I left her in the sitting room with specific instructions to remain there."

"If you think that'll stop Hermione, you don't really know her."

"That's true," murmured Severus.

"And she does know a lot about house-elves. She tried to free the elves at Hogwarts once, you know."

"Ah yes. I seem to recall that one of my Slytherins purchased a stack of her S.P.E.W. badges and enchanted them to read 'Swots for Pleasuring Every Weasley.' I had to confiscate them when he started selling them for ten times what he paid."

Harry began to laugh. "That had to have been Malfoy."

"Potter, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"I guess."

"Is Granger happy with Weasley?"

"Why?"

"No reason."

"I'm not going to tell you anything unless you tell me why you want to know."

Severus sighed. "It makes me sad to see a fine mind preoccupied with unnecessary child rearing."

"They both wanted children," argued Harry.

"I didn't mean the offspring," said Severus. "I meant her husband. Ms. Granger seems to have grown and matured somewhat since I saw her last. Mr. Weasley seems to have done the opposite."

"Ron's had a hard time of things," said Harry, clearly reluctant to say anything bad about his best mate. "Hermione threw him out of the house before they had Rose, and it took him months to work back into her good graces. I think that and being a dad's been a lot of pressure on him."

"And I'm sure it's been a walk in the park for Ms. Granger."

Harry paused. "How much do you know about Rose?"

"I recall a particularly nauseating birth announcement in the Lifestyles section of the _Prophet_."

"Well, there's a bit of a story there. They managed to keep it out of the papers that Rose was the reason Hermione kicked Ron out of the house."

"It's not that uncommon, particularly for expectant mothers who are unused to coping with their endocrine system's hyperactivity."

"It wasn't just hormones, Professor. Not many people know this, but Hermione's had Ron taking Spermicide Solution daily since they first, you know. Well, it turns out that he didn't always take it, and Rose was the result."

Severus felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air in the cellar. "He deliberately impregnated her without her consent?"

"I don't think it was deliberate," said Harry. "Ron just forgets things, that's all. Hermione was furious. She almost divorced him over it. Would have done, if the Weasleys hadn't worn her down. Ginny loved that she and Hermione were pregnant at the same time, so it was always happy this and happy that about the babies. And Molly was after her as soon as she found out there was another grandbaby on the way, calling Rose a precious miracle, insisting that a baby needs a father, offering to watch her when they were both at work, all sorts of things. Anyway, Hermione eventually came round, and you know the rest."

"Potter, I asked if you think she's happy. I didn't ask for the sordid tale of their broken trust."

"Ron and Hermione are my best friends in the world, but even I don't always know when they're play bickering or fighting for real."

"If you don't know, then why bother telling me anything at all?"

Severus suspected that if there had been light, Potter would be scrutinizing his face. "Because I get the feeling that you're actually concerned. And even if Ron becomes the perfect dad when he has his son, I've always thought that Hermione needed more people she could talk with about books and things."

Equanimity from Potter- would wonders never cease? "I see," said Severus noncommittally.

"And if you ever do anything to hurt her or Ron, I'll break every bone in your body with a hammer."

"I've no intention of shattering anything that a stiff breeze wouldn't cause to collapse anyway, Potter."

"No," said Potter softly. "I didn't think you did."

They lapsed into merciful silence.

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Hermione blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright light in the kitchen. None of the elves seemed to notice her entrance, though Lucius Malfoy looked up from his task and stared at her in unflattering disbelief.

"House-elves," called Hermione, "please bring me to your master. I would speak to him on a matter of great importance."

One of the elves pointed a finger at her, and Hermione felt a wave of magic. A lock of brown hair fell into her face, and she nearly fainted with relief as she realized that the elf had restored her and she was no longer Heloise. As if in agreement, Hugo began kicking vigorously, and a stronger contraction hit. She bit her lip and leaned against the wall behind her.

"What human dares to trespass in our domain?" asked one elf, whose brown eyes blazed with fury.

"I am Hermione Granger. Your master knows me," she said, playing her hunch.

"Granger," spat one of the other elves. "You were one who stood idly by while the master was slaughtered."

Hermione raised her veil, revealing the scar left by Bellatrix's knife. "I bear scars from that night, too," she said. "I'm not here to cause you trouble, I'm here to help."

"Are you going to give us knitted hats?" asked one elf, who still wore a Hogwarts pillowcase. Several kitchen elves snickered.

"I'm trying to stop you from making a grave mistake," said Hermione. "I know you want your freedom, and I want to help you. But seeking revenge on wizards and witches isn't the way to do it."

"And what does missus think is the proper way?" asked a familiar voice.

Hermione spun to find Dobby standing behind her, staring down his pencil-like nose at her.

Hermione didn't miss a beat. "Talk to the Ministry. Many things have changed since the last war, including the people in positions of authority. If there's even a small coalition of elves seeking freedom, it's worth it to speak to the Ministry about seeking legal representation, and that's where I can help."

"I think missus will be very helpful," said Dobby, looking thoughtfully at her, then glancing significantly at the other elves. "You has no wand, and you is still able to get here. You is having help. Tell us where the young master is hiding so the elves' revenge will be complete."

"I came alone," said Hermione with more bravado than she felt. "Dobby, please be reasonable. Revenge solves nothing, and violent action against wizards and witches could backfire entirely." She held aloft the blue leather-bound legal book that she'd brought from the sitting room. "According to this, that's what happened the last time the house-elves rebelled in 1498. That rebellion is the reason why wizards now seize control of your  
elflings within hours of birth."

The smirks fell from the elves' faces.

"You are entitled to freedom," she said seriously, "and I think you will be surprised to see that other wizards and witches feel the same way that I do. Please see reason- seeking revenge will only make your owners want to control you more and it will undermine those who argue that free elves are capable of contributing to magical society."

"Missus is not understanding," said Dobby, shaking his head. "If we elves is not making a stand tonight, other elves will not be following. Elves is needing a sign that we is serious. Writing letters to the Ministry is not the stuff of elf-songs."

"And making Minerva McGonagall eat sweets until she vomits is the sort of thing you tell your grandchildren?" asked Hermione

Dobby lifted his chin stubbornly. "You is trying my patience," he said. "Tell us where is the young master, and we will let you go. If you is not telling us, we is putting you to work."

Hermione swallowed hard and held up the blue book. "I don't know where Draco is, and you must listen to me. Please, Dobby. You know that not all wizards hate and disdain house-elves. Why are you acting like this?"

Dobby held out his hand. "Missus's first lesson tonight is that nothing in your book will change anything."

Hermione lowered her eyes, not trusting her expression not to betray her, and handed her book to Dobby. When she was certain he had taken the book, she dared to look at him.

Dobby was staring at her, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Come, missus," said Winky, taking Hermione's arm roughly. "We must get you to work."

"Wait."

Winky frowned at him.

"Dobby wishes to speak to missus alone."

Winky bowed, looking slightly bewildered, but opened the door to the wine cellar.

Hermione followed Dobby down the stairs, uncertain of what was going to happen.

Dobby snapped his fingers, and the door slammed shut behind them.

"Stupid mistress!" he shrieked, stomping on his own foot as he raved. "You has spoiled everything! EVERYTHING! You, a friend of Harry Potter, has tricked Dobby into service!"

"Be silent, Dobby," said Hermione. The elf's harsh words brought stinging tears to her eyes, and she felt exhausted to the bone. "I didn't want to do it this way, but you weren't listening to reason. You'll be free again, I promise you."

"How is you doing it, mistress?"

"Open the book and read the marked passage."

Dobby laid the book on a cask of sherry, and it fell open to the page. "'When elflings are born to elves in a family's service, the elfling becomes the possession of the serving family. However, the enslavement is not activated until the master gives the elfling a symbol of the type of service he is required to perform, _exemplum gratium_, a dishrag for working in the kitchens or livery for those in domestic service.'"

Dobby ruefully raised the small golden pillow sham that Hermione had stolen from the sitting room and had used to mark the page.

"Is Dobby now to do laundry in your home, mistress?" asked Dobby, a look of loathing on his face.

"That depends entirely on you, Dobby," said Hermione, settling herself uncomfortably on a cask near the elf.

"Mistress is not forcing Dobby?" he asked, clearly confused.

"Of course not," said Hermione. "If you want to be free, you need to make your own decisions, and the only way to do that is to be presented with choices."

"It is not much choice between slavery and freedom, even with conditions," said Dobby pointedly.

"Hear what I have to say, first," advised Hermione. "First, should you accept my offer of freedom, you and your followers will seek no more revenge against wizards or witches."

Dobby frowned. "Malfoys is deserving more-"

"You've already humiliated them and caused them pain," interrupted Hermione. "Do you feel any better?"

"Dobby will feel better when they is sorry for how they treated Dobby," he said stubbornly.

"You can't make them sorry, Dobby. But if you can stop hating them, it takes away much of their power over you."

"Mistress can't understand."

"I understand what it's like to be persecuted for no reason other than accident of birth. I know what it's like to be insulted, disdained, and tortured. But I never sought revenge like you are. Do you know why?"

Dobby looked at her curiously. "Because those that hurt you are dead?"

"Do you think your hatred will die when Lucius and Narcissa die?"

"Yes," said Dobby.

"It won't. All it will do is change direction." Hermione closed her eyes and thought of Professor Snape. "I know a man who was bullied by two boys growing up. One bully died young, and the other was living a life worse than death in Azkaban, yet the man still clung to his anger. It made him cruel, and it made him a bully towards those who didn't deserve it."

Hermione sensed that Dobby was mulling over her words.

"I'm not saying you should forgive the Malfoys unconditionally, but the desire for revenge will turn you into someone you don't recognize."

Hermione was surprised to see tears in Dobby's eyes. "How did mistress get over it?"

Hermione recalled leading Stan Shunpike from his cell in Azkaban, ensuring that the surviving Death Eaters received free and fair trials, and poring over the language of new laws and regulations that she'd sponsored.

"By remembering what things you control and focusing on making them the best they can be instead of thinking about things you can't change, like what wrongs you've suffered."

The tears were now leaking out of the corners of Dobby's enormous eyes, and she was alarmed when Dobby began beating a bottle of wine against his head.

"Dobby!" she exclaimed. "Stop that at once!"

"Dobby is the worst elf who ever lived!" he cried, not ceasing his self-flagellation. "It is Dobby's fault that Harry Potter is being hurt! Dobby was foolish! Dobby is so sorry for letting Kreacher and Winky have their way!"

Hermione wrested the bottle from the hysterical elf's grasp. "Dobby, calm down!"

"Dobby deserves to rot in Azkaban," said Dobby miserably. "Dobby should have listened to Noddy from the beginning."

Hermione saw a ray of hope, remembering Noddy's argument for freedom without revenge. "It's not too late, Dobby."

"It is!" wailed the elf. "The Malfoys and Hogwarts Headmistress will never forgive Dobby, and house-elf lives will be even worse than before!"

Hermione thought for a moment and looked at Dobby until he met her eye. "Do you want house-elves to be free?"

"Yes, mistress, more than anything. It's why Dobby agreed to lead the elves."

"Do you think that my help, along with help from Harry, Ron, Kingsley, and Arthur Weasley, will be enough to gain the house-elves some measure of freedom?"

"Why would they be doing that for the elves when we is turning them into costumes and making them afraid?"

"Because we know it's the right thing to do. Your revenge cannot be undone, but if all of the elves who participated in kidnapping and punishments turn themselves in, it will be clear to the entire Wizarding World that not all house-elves who desire freedom will resort to violence to get what they want."

"But not all house-elves who is helping tonight is knowing about the revenge. We is tricking them with promises of freedom."

"Then in your confession, you must make it clear that house-elves like Taddy did not participate willingly and should be allowed to return to service without punishment."

"Will Mistress free Dobby if he promises that he will turn himself in along with the elves that will follow him?"

"Of course. I can also promise you that should you receive an unfair sentence, Azkaban will not be able to hold you."

Dobby fairly goggled at her. "Mistress would break wizarding law for house-elves?"

Hermione grimaced. "Nothing ever got accomplished by obeying stupid rules."

Dobby stared at her in wonder. "Mistress appeals to Dobby but is not forcing him."

"I don't want any more bad blood between elves and humans," she said. "I know it seems impossible that we should reconcile, considering all that the elves have suffered at wizarding hands, but if elves can believe there is one person on their side, perhaps it will not be so difficult to believe that there could be others."

The elf examined her with his large green eyes. "Dobby will speak with Noddy. Dobby will take all the wicked elves, and Noddy will speak for those who has done nothing wrong."

Hermione extended her hand, and Dobby stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before he realized what it meant. He shook her hand, his mouth set in a determined line, and she felt the house around her tremble.

"Dobby has given his oath and received his mistress's. Time now flows in the manor," said Dobby. He raised his hand over a long wooden crate that lay by the wall, and the lid popped off, revealing Severus lying on top of Harry inside.

Both recoiled from the dim light, but Harry's face broke into a wide grin when his eyes adjusted. "I knew you'd come," he said. He nudged Severus with his knee. "Gerroff me, you great perv," he ordered, his voice teasing.

Severus unfolded himself, his joints popping. "Puerile, Potter. And you're not at all my type. Well," he said to Hermione, "you're a sight for maladjusted eyes."

Hermione turned to Dobby. "You still need to release the captives and restore everyone else to their rightful selves."

Dobby sighed. "We will be missing the orangutans."

"Can you do it in a way that won't hurt them? Like if there are birds flying around the ceiling they won't suddenly fall on the ground as humans?"

Dobby swept his arm in a great arc. "It is done. The doors is open, and all wizards and witches are free."

With care, Hermione untied the rope belt from under her bliaud and held it out to the elf. "Thank you for keeping your word. Take it, Dobby. You're free."

Dobby took the belt and looped it over his shoulder like a sash. "Mistress is keeping her word," said Dobby in wonderment. "Dobby will be telling the other elves. They will not like to face Wizard justice, but most will go. They will be choosing for themselves, and choosing is why elves is wanting to be free in the first place."

"Go," said Hermione. "And good luck, Dobby."

"Sod off, Dobby," said Severus and Harry in unison.

The elf bowed to Hermione and disappeared with a pop.

The adrenaline that had been sustaining Hermione gave out at last, and she slumped against a shelf.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Harry.

"Stay back," said Hermione, half-squatting. "My water's just broken."

Harry swore, and Severus seized Hermione by the shoulders. "Find that witless husband of hers. I'll Floo her to St. Mungo's."

"Ron's in the sitting room," said Hermione, embarrassed by her body's terrible timing.

Harry sprinted up the stairs and was gone.

Hermione leaned on Severus. "I'm sorry you got stuck with this. I guess I'm further along than Heloise was."

"Think nothing of it, Ms. Granger," he said. "Do you think you can make it up the stairs?"

She took an experimental step and winced as more fluid ran down her leg. "I'll make a mess, but yes, I think I can. I'll be all right until the next one hits."

It wasn't until Severus had thrown a handful of Floo powder into the study's fireplace that he heard Hermione gasp.

"Are you experiencing a contraction, Ms. Granger?"

"No," she whispered, eyes filled with wonder as she stared at him. "Just another paradigm shift."

"I'm in no mood to play games," said Severus irritably as he took his place next to her in the emerald flames.

"Nor am I, Severus," she said with a smile. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you. I mean, to really see you."

"I believe you're delirious, Ms. Granger," said Severus with a wry smile. "St. Mungo's!" he cried, and they swirled into nothingness.

ACEOFCUPSSPUCFOECA


	9. Chapter 9

See Chapter One for disclaimer

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

Chapter Nine: Five of Wands, Reversed

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

Severus was pacing the hallway outside the delivery room feeling utterly useless. He'd already availed himself of the hospital owlery and sent a Howler to Weasley, but there was still no sign of him or Potter.

He'd walked the halls with her until her contractions were closer together, his arm supporting her lower back, while having a mock-debate about whether afterbirth could be used for haruspication, largely to keep Hermione's mind off the pain. He lingered behind when they finally ushered her into the linen-draped birthing room. It was a sacred place that he didn't feel worthy to enter. Besides, there were enough attendants present to distract her.

Damn it all, where were they? Even if they'd come by broomstick they should have arrived by now.

Severus paused in his pacing to glare at another nervous-looking man who was pretending to read the Quibbler while surreptitiously watching him. Former student, perhaps? Yes, the face was slightly familiar, if more heavyset and lined.

Sowerby. Ravenclaw. A Potions dunce of near-Longbottomian proportions who somehow managed to make Prefect his seventh year. Repeatedly caught in the intimate company of Berghoff, Gryffindor. Perhaps that's the reason for all the warm memories- the opportunity to deduct points from both rival houses.

Severus very nearly smiled at the boy, and to his irritation, Sowerby found his voice.

"It's true, then."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You're alive. I recognized you the second you came in here."

Severus bit back a sharp retort. "As you see."

Sowerby's eyes lit up. "Then if you wouldn't mind, sir, I have a favor to ask."

"Well, speak up, boy, what is it?"

"Would you mind autographing the Quibbler article Xenophilius Lovegood wrote about you? My wife's an enormous Phantom of the Opera fan. She's delivering our twins right now- Raoul and Christine."

Severus blinked at the non sequitur and seized the proffered tabloid. He scanned the article and his scowl deepened.

"Don't believe everything you read, Sowerby," he said. He turned abruptly on his heel and walked to the opposite side of the waiting area.

"I knew it!" crowed Sowerby. "I told her your voice was too low to play the Phantom! You're, what, a baritone?"

Severus was saved from having to answer by the opening of the door to Hermione's room.

"You the father?" asked a severe-looking mediwitch.

Severus cleared his throat. "Well, I-"

"Are you Severus?" asked the woman impatiently.

He could answer that one. "Yes."

"She's calling for you. Follow me."

Bewildered but grateful for the opportunity to escape Sowerby's curious jocularity, Severus stepped into the brightly lit room.

Hermione was lying on the bed, her hair in disarray, red-faced, and sweaty, but she grinned at Severus. It was the most beautiful expression he'd ever seen on any face, bar none.

"He's almost here," she said, sounding tired but very much herself. "I needed someone by my side."

Severus couldn't think of anything to say that didn't involve disparaging her husband, so he nodded and took her hand.

"We're almost there," said the healer, who was in front of the drape that concealed Hermione's lower body from his view. "Do you want to watch?"

Severus looked at Hermione, who shrugged. "Do what you like."

"The baby will receive plenty of attention from everyone else," he said, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. "I'm here for the mother."

She smiled at him for an instant before a contraction was upon her again. Her fingernails cut into his skin, but she didn't cry out. He pressed his handkerchief against her sweaty brow and murmured encouragement. Time passed, and her contractions grew closer together. He registered little other than the growing and ebbing pressure of her fingertips and the sound of her quick breaths.

"That's it!" called the healer encouragingly. "Push now!"

Hermione took several deep breaths, and pushed, face fairly purple from the effort.

"Here's the head! A few more pushes should do it."

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and emitted a growl from deep in her throat. It must have done the trick, because the healer and her attendant let out cries of joy, and a flurry of activity started behind the drape. Hermione fell backwards on the bed, breathing hard.

She was still holding his hand. She finally let go when the healer placed a red, squashed-looking infant in her arms.

"A boy, and as healthy as they come," announced the healer. "You three get to know one another, and I'll be back shortly with the paperwork."

Hermione pulled the child close to her face, examining his tiny fingers and toes. "He's perfect," she whispered. "So much smaller than Rose was."

"I trust he won't stay that color," said Severus, frowning.

"No," said Hermione with an exhausted smile. "And his head won't be so oddly shaped in a few days, either. Funny-looking babies are one of the drawbacks of vaginal delivery, but it certainly beats the alternative."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"I'm fine- this was a piece of cake compared to Rose. I'm going to try to feed him now."

Severus started for the door. "I'll go see if I can find out what's happened to your berk husband."

"Thank you, Severus," she said with a sigh. "I don't know where I'd be right now if not for you."

"You're welcome, Ms. Granger."

"For Circe's sake, you've just seen me give birth. Do you think you could find it in you to call me Hermione?"

He impulsively kissed her forehead. "Rest now, Hermione, and get to know your son."

He shut the door tightly behind him. This turned out to be a very good idea because no sooner had he done so than he heard Ron Weasley's distinctive bellow come from the end of the hall. Rapture.

Severus adopted his severest expression and stalked down the hallway towards the sounds of outrage.

He was surprised to find Potter and Weasley standing by the Welcom Wizard's desk, clearly angry and shouting incomprehensibly at the desk attendant, whose desk sign proclaimed him to be Bartholomew Simms. He looked to be about a hundred and was clearly untouched by their pleas.

"You may be war heroes, but rules are rules, Misters Potter and Weasley," he said. "Only immediate family are allowed in the birthing rooms."

"For the last time, I AM her immediate family!" spat Ron. "We got married years ago!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but also for the last time, the Ministry's records show that Ms. Granger is unmarried," said Simms testily, brandishing a thick file folder. "You are not currently family, therefore, you are not allowed to see her until the healer has declared her capable of receiving visitors."

"I'm the baby's father!" shouted Ron. "That gives me rights!"

"Rights that you surrendered by not doing the right thing by her," said the attendant, glaring over his pince nez at Ron. "Now, clear off before I call security."

"I bloody well won't clear off!" said Ron mulishly. "You can explain tomorrow to the Daily Prophet why you wouldn't let me go to my wife's bedside or hold my son."

"No, Mr. Weasley," said Severus, who had crept up behind them noiselessly. "You are going to tell us all the reason you aren't married."

Ron gaped at Severus, alive and breathing, for a moment before his outrage got the better of him. "Of course we're married! It says so on our marriage certificate, Rosie's birth certificate, the title to our house- it's everywhere!"

"Be that as it may," asid Simms, "her current file states that she has no spouse."

Severus crossed his arms and gave Weasley his most penetrating gaze. "Do you know what it takes to make a legal marriage disappear, Weasley?"

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm three. Marriages can be magically annulled."

"Precisely. Now, I want you to think very carefully. Do you know of any stipulations in your marriage contract that would cause it to become void?"

To Severus's surprise, Weasley appeared to be thinking hard. Then suddenly, his ears and face turned bright scarlet. "No."

"'No' as in you don't know why?" asked Potter hopefully.

Severus smirked. "I suspected as much. Have fun explaining things to Potter and your family."

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded Weasley.

"To Hermione's side, where I've been all evening," said Severus. "She, unlike you, has been rather productive in the last hours."

Just after Severus had turned the corner a cool breath of air reached him. He paused and peered around just in time to see four breathless Weasleys burst through the revolving glass door. Ginny and George were still in their finery from the ball and looked no worse for wear.

"We're not too late, are we?" asked Molly. "Oh, Ron, how exciting!"

"I thought you'd done this before," said George, flinging a friendly arm around his brother's shoulder. "You look like you're about to be sick. Well, Ronniekins, I suppose I could take the trouble to explain how babies are made."

"Shut up, George," said Ginny, who was somewhat alarmed by Ron's appearance.

"Is everything all right, Ron?" asked his father.

Ron's jaw worked up and down, but no sound came out.

"There's been a misunderstanding," began Potter heroically.

Severus shook his head. They'd get to the bottom of the mess soon enough. Hermione was the one who would require delicate handling. She would be busy with the baby for a few minutes longer, and he needed something to help soften the blow for Hermione. He slipped out the hospital's staff entrance and into the alleyway beyond.

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

Upon his return, Severus stopped outside Hermione's closed door, behind which he could hear a chorus of voices singing. The melody was quiet and slow, yet somehow joyful, and in a beautiful language he didn't understand.

As the last notes faded and died, the door swung open to admit him.

Hermione lay on the bed, her baby asleep in her arms and tears in her eyes. A sheaf of paperwork and a tray containing a few anemic-looking sandwiches sat on a rolling table next to her. He was also surprised to see that there were about thirty house-elves gathered around her bedside.

Dobby laid a finger against his pencil-like nose and winked at Severus. Hermione caught his eye and gave him a tremulous smile.

"I brought take-away," said Severus gruffly, feeling decidedly second-class in his offering.

"Oh, Severus, how marvelous!" she exclaimed. "I'd kill for samosas!"

"Then it's fortunate for all present that I thought to order some," said Severus, setting the food on the table. One of the house-elves summoned a chair for him. He nodded his thanks and sat.

Hermione grabbed a piece of warm naan, scooped up some steaming curry and ate. Once she had polished off her first piece, she devoured a large samosa in two bites.

"Thank you so much, Severus," she sighed contentedly. "I was ravenous. Did you happen to see Ron or Harry?"

"Yes, they're still down in the lobby with an assortment of Weasleys. Do you mind if I ask what all these elves are doing here?"

"They blessed Hugo," said Hermione with a smile. "Isn't that lovely?"

"Mistress is true to her word and is helping to free the house-elves," said Dobby.

Severus glared at them. "Why are there so many of you now? There were only a dozen or so at the party tonight."

"Many of us is Hogwarts elves, sir," squeaked one tiny elf clad in a tea cozy. "We is here in solidarity."

"Hogwarts has over a hundred elves," said Severus. "Not a particularly convincing show of solidarity."

"Someone must make food and clean Hogwarts over the weekend," said one indignantly.

"This many elves is making a good blessing," added another elf, who was dressed in a jaunty yellow painter's cap. "It is a blessing for a happy family."

"Perhaps that means Ron'll pick up his dirty socks from now on," said Hermione with a tired smile. "What on earth is taking them so long?"

"Wheezey is not here?" asked Winky, frowning. "That is not proper."

Severus was torn between wanting to spare Hermione's feelings and an intense desire to hear her rail against Weasley. His softer feelings won out. "There's been something of a clerical error."

"What, did they put you down as the father?" asked Hermione with a smile, as she opened the container of vindaloo.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple." He glared at the elves. "Haven't you somewhere else to be? Like confessing your crimes to the authorities?"

"We is on our way there," said Dobby loftily. "Elves is keeping their promises, just like mistress." He and the other elves disappeared in a chorus of pops.

"There, but for the grace of Granger, go I. What did you promise them?"

Hermione swallowed a large bite of curry-soaked chapatti. "I promised to get them out of Azkaban if they're convicted."

"When they're convicted, you mean. Lucius and Narcissa will see to that."

"I have not been completely idle in initiating house-elf protections since joining Magical Law Enforcement," said Hermione lightly.

"I did read a few editorials on the subject. I haven't heard such vitriol pour forth from Rita Skeeter's pen since Albus was alive."

Hermione popped a bright pink pastry into her mouth. "I didn't mount legal challenges to deeply entrenched prejudices to win a popularity contest."

"You also cleared me of Dumbledore's murder."

Severus was shocked to realize that Hermione was capable of smiling devilishly, even with her mouth full. "Saw that editorial, did you?"

"It was hard to miss."

"And yet you stayed in hiding."

"Trial by press is a far more arduous experience than trial by Wizengamot."

"If that's the way you feel about it, I'm surprised you agreed to let Lucius reveal you tonight. That was the shocking surprise Lucius planned, wasn't it?"

"Excellent deduction, Ms. Granger."

"He won't be happy that you came here and spoiled his surprise."

"I can't imagine my presence will trump the domestic scandal brewing at present."

"The 'clerical error.' Would you care to clarify?"

Severus handed Hermione the top form on the stack of parchment the healers had left. "Take a look at this birth certificate."

Hermione frowned, munching on another samosa.

"They made a mistake here," she said, leaving a grease spot where she tapped the form with her finger. "I am most certainly married. If that's the reason they're not being allowed in, it can be cleared up with a floo call to the Ministry."

"Unless your marriage has been annulled."

"Absurd. Surely Ron and I would know if that had happened," she paused, looking at Severus curiously. "Wouldn't we?"

"How closely did you read your wedding contract?" asked Severus, not unkindly.

"I didn't. Ron said that the groom traditionally prepared it. I just signed it." Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, hell. Severus, what did he do?"

"As much as I hate to say it, I don't think Weasley meant any harm by it. He merely failed to think."

"Severus." Hermione's tone was a warning. "What did he do?"

"I suspect that your groom had you sign a traditional pureblooded marriage contract, not thinking to excise the stipulation that voids the marriage should either of you become barren in any way, excepting menopause for the witch, naturally."

"I should think it obvious to anyone that we're capable of having children," said Hermione.

"You are, but for the moments between the Manor returning to regular time and the restoration of all the guests, your husband was incapable of producing anything other than borderline heretical treatises."

Hermione scowled at Severus's flippant tone. "It can't apply to us. We already have a child."

"Pureblooded wizards and witches take inheritance very seriously. Infants did not always make it to adulthood, and it was the duty of any pureblooded couple to produce enough offspring to ensure that at least one would outlive its parents. One is hardly enough to satisfy that. This is why, you will notice, that the majority of pureblooded families, particularly those with wealth and power, have many children."

"The Malfoys only have Draco," pointed out Hermione.

"The Malfoys and Blacks are so inbred I'm amazed they were able to produce any offspring at all, much less one with two arms and two legs."

"The Lestranges?"

"Marriage of convenience, never consummated. Bella was in love with the Dark Lord, who was physically incapable of reproduction, as were Rodolphus and his chosen paramour."

"Please say it wasn't Nagini," said Hermione, grimacing.

"Close. Avery. And recall that I said 'the majority.' The Dark Lord's inner circle, as I'm sure you aware, was far from a pureblooded quorum, hence the bribery, blackmail, and extortion."

"Hardly the tools of a righteous majority," agreed Hermione, switching Hugo gently to her other arm. "What about you?" asked Hermione.

"I'm not a pureblood," said Severus, scowling.

"Thank goodness for that," said Hermione. "I mean, why did you never marry and produce a dozen odd potions geniuses?"

"You know part of the answer already," said Severus.

"Carrying a torch for Harry's mum."

He frowned but did not contradict her. "I have also been dead for number of years, which is not exactly conducive to expanding my social circle."

Hermione regarded him thoughtfully. "Harry buried your memories from that night at your memorial. We could exhume them and you'd have them back in their entirety. Would you like that?"

Severus met her eyes. "I have been perfectly content these last years with only the barest form of those memories. Tonight was rather a gruesome reminder of their power. Would you have me the way I was when you knew me? Petty, bitter, and spiteful?"

Fortunately, Hermione seemed to grasp the importance of his question and answered him in kind. "I would have you no other way than as you are. However, these memories are part of you and to deny them would be to deny you the ability to learn from them."

"You would ask me to live through that again?" asked Severus, rising.

"Damn it, Severus, do you think you're the only person in this world who made foolish choices?" said Hermione, exasperated. "A particular comment from Basil of Caesarea has been on the tip of my tongue all evening. 'Not the power to remember, but its very opposite, the power to forget, is a necessary condition for our existence.' Artificially forgetting is not the same as neutralizing a poisonous memory. Cicero also reminds us that liberty is rendered even more precious by the recollection of servitude. We've both been given our liberty tonight as much as the house-elves have. Let's do things properly this time."

"You won't always try to win arguments via quotation, will you?" asked Severus, sighing impatiently.

"I've actually read Cicero, thank you very much," said Hermione primly.

"And Basil of Caesarea?"

"Hopefully, that will fade," said Hermione, making a face. "That and the fear of baths."

Severus was surprised to feel his mouth curve upward in a smile, which fell slightly when he recalled her earlier words. "Are these the feelings of Hermione Granger, or are these the feelings of Heloise?"

Hermione blushed slightly but did not avert her eyes from his. "Heloise affected my ability to communicate, but she never took away my reason. I don't think she planted anything that wasn't already there."

"Then rest," said Severus softly. "I have some things to do, but I will return to you."

Hermione set her mouth in determination. "I will wait."

Severus couldn't resist pressing his mouth to her stubborn lips, and he was gratified to feel her respond and give a nearly inaudible moan.

"I will understand if you can't wait," said Severus, as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Hermione snorted. "Just come back as soon as you can so I won't have to wait long. Dealing with unpleasant situations is much easier when one has a constant reminder of what's waiting on the other side. But even if you're gone for some time, I won't be talked into another easy solution."

Severus was about to kiss her again when a bright light flashed from the doorway. In the doorway stood a short, grizzled man with a camera, a man in austere black robes, Potter, and four Weasleys.

"Mario Paparazzo, Daily Prophet," said the short man eagerly. "Mrs. Weasley, can you explain why you're here with a deceased ex-Death Eater when your husband was stopped by the Welcome Wizard? Is this baby his love child?"

"SILENCE!" bellowed Severus. "Get that man out of here!"

"I invited him," said Ron, pale with rage. "I wanted the Prophet to have an exclusive on Hugo's birth."

"I'm sure the entire wizarding world wants to see a child born out of wedlock," spat Hermione, holding the baby close to her chest. "Everyone present knows that thanks to your choice of wedding contract, we're no longer married," said Hermione, doing her best to maintain her composure against so many angry, disappointed, and disgusted faces.

"I invited a Ministry official to re-marry us tonight," said Ron, gesturing to the tall man in black. He glared at Severus. "It looks like we won't be in need of his services tonight."

Hermione scowled at Ron. "Did you honestly think I'd re-marry you, just like that, after you made our marriage contingent on having a whole passel of children? Or did you even read it?"

The witnesses' heads were snapping back and forth between Hermione and Ron, like a crowd watching a tennis match. Mario Paparazzo's Quick Quotes Quill was moving in a blur.

"Of course not!" protested Ron. "I just knew that it wouldn't be an issue, since both of us wanted kids! I wasn't planning on being castrated tonight. That was your idea, as I recall."

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "I told you before, I had nothing to do with turning you into your costume. The house-elves did that."

"And who wanted to free the house-elves?" cried Ron, triumphantly.

"We all did!" shouted Hermione. "Unless that was just another one of your dishonest, hare-brained schemes to get me into bed with you!"

The witnesses were silent, until Molly Weasley stepped forward, face crimson with outrage.

"Shameless hussy! You're no daughter of mine!"

"Obviously," said Hermione angrily. "That's rather the crux of the issue, isn't it? And if you weren't such a bigoted, overbearing old cow, Ron and I would have separated a year ago and would probably be much happier with other people."

"Wicked!" gasped George, whose eyes were shining like a child's on Christmas.

"THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" shrieked Molly at George.

"Nor is it any of yours," cut in Severus, stepping between Hermione and the furious Weasley matriarch. He reached for the reporter's camera and notes, but he wasn't fast enough. Paparazzo snapped one final picture of Severus's furious face and tore off down the hallway. Fortunately, the Ministry official had slunk off in the uproar. Severus glared at the Weasleys. "Hermione and Hugo need rest. If you do not remove yourselves from this room, I shall summon the healers to remove you forcibly."

"You won't get away with this!" spat Ron. "He's my baby too, you know!"

"And your wife, Ron?" asked Harry, who ran his fingers through his fringe nervously.

"She's made her choice," said Ron, stonily.

"Ron," whispered Ginny, clinging to her husband's arm.

"What do you want me to do?" shouted Ron, rounding on his sister. "Apologize for thinking that a family is important and having a wedding contract that said so? She's made it clear over the past year that I'm being tested, and it's almost a relief to know that the test was rigged. I never would have passed, not when she's been trying to replace me."

"That's not true, Ron, and you know it," said Hermione, her voice firm. "I gave our marriage everything I had."

"And everything just suddenly changed tonight?" asked Ron. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes," said Hermione simply. "It's the truth."

Ron's face turned a darker shade of red than Hermione had ever seen."You're a conniving, lying slag!" he shouted. "I wouldn't marry you again if you begged me."

Ron's shout woke Hugo, who started crying. George and Severus leaped for Ron at the same time.

"Get him the hell out of here!" bellowed Severus.

"Ron, shut your bleeding hole!" yelled George. "The poor woman just gave birth!"

Hermione was momentarily stunned by his insult, and tears began running down her face. "Wait," she said to her defenders. "I know he doesn't mean it."

"Like hell I don't!" shouted Ron. Harry conjured a gag and tied it around Ron's mouth.

"Haven't changed a bit, have you, Weasley?" asked Severus, baring his teeth at Ron. "Still the coward who left your friends when they needed you most."

"Enough, Severus," said Hermione sharply, wiping her tears away. "Ron and I need to talk. All the rest of you can leave."

"You can say anything you have to say to me in front of my family," said Ron. "I have nothing to hide."

Hermione shot a pleading took to Severus, but he shook his head. He couldn't force them.

Hermione swallowed hard, and faced her ex-husband. "It wasn't working, Ron. It never did. We could both bear it when we were busy at work, and we've got used to having one another around at home. But all that changed when Rose arrived, and we've been banging heads ever since. We fight over everything when we're at home together, and it can't be good for Rose. Tonight, I think we both found that we need more than the other can give."

"Don't try to drag me down to your lying, cheating level-" began Ron hotly.

"Don't tell me you didn't love the way Luna held you and cosseted you tonight," interrupted Hermione. "It felt like something missing finally fell into place, didn't it? I don't begrudge you that, and you're an even bigger prat than I thought if you're going to begrudge me that same happiness."

Ron didn't deny her statement about Luna, but his expression darkened. "But we love each other," said Ron, finally sounding unsure of himself.

"I think we'll still love each other once we've sorted this out," said Hermione, blinking back tears. "Just not in the married kind of way."

Molly Weasley's face was nearly as purple as her youngest son's had been. Fortunately, Arthur noticed, seized her arm, and began dragging her out the door. "Come now, dear. I think Ron has this well in hand. See you soon, Hermione?"

Hermione's smiled at his kind words, even as a tear ran down her cheek. "Thanks, Arthur. I'll bring Hugo by soon."

Reluctantly, George followed, dragging his little sister along with him, in spite of her vociferous protestations. Harry looked uncertainly between Ron, Hermione, and Severus.

"All right, Ron?" asked Harry.

Ron looked at Hermione. "It's really over, then?"

"I think so," she said, shocked at the weight that lifted from her heart when he nodded.

"All right. See you later then?"

"I'll be by when the healers release me."

"What'll I tell Rosie?"

"Tell her mummy's bringing her a surprise. You'll still see me, Ron. It'll take more than a nasty story in the Prophet and your mum to keep me out of my daughter's life. We'll work out the details later."

"All right," said Ron. "C'mon, Harry."

Severus stepped into the doorway. "Potter, wait."

"What is it?" Harry was obviously angry but couldn't quite bring himself to blame Severus for it all.

"I wish to call on you next week. When would be convenient?"

"Is Monday evening all right? Ginny's got girl's night out, and I don't think the lads are going to want to go out to the pub so soon after this."

"Eight o'clock?"

"See you then. You know where Godric's Hollow is?"

"I've been there."

"Right. I forgot about that," said Harry awkwardly.

Hermione had to smile when Harry and Ron both shot her questioning looks on their way out the door. She nodded, and they closed the door softly behind them.

Severus handed Hermione a handkerchief, and she began to weep in earnest. His arms enfolded her, holding her close, and he allowed her to rub her damp cheeks against his robe. He rocked her and Hugo gently, murmuring soft, comforting words while Hermione grieved.

At last, her hitching breaths steadied, and Severus smoothed her hair back from her face, tucking the unruly locks behind her ear.

"I'm so tired," she whispered.

"It stands to reason," said Severus, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. "You danced all night, foiled an insurrection, saved the house-elves from themselves, gave birth to a son, and unloaded a thoughtless and useless husband- something that takes most people substantially longer than an evening to accomplish."

Hermione gave him a tremulous smile. "You will come back soon, won't you?"

"As soon as I'm able to offer you something far better than Weasley could."

"In that case, you don't need to go anywhere."

"A young lady I once knew once suggested that not learning the lessons of my own past might be harmful to me in the long term."

"She's probably right," said Hermione with a sigh. "Not that this makes me very fond of her."

"She is a terrible know-it-all," agreed Severus. "But she is so very often right that I plan to keep her around."

"That's good to hear," said Hermione, yawning deeply.

"Rest, Hermione," said Severus, giving her hand a squeeze. He ghosted his hand over the fine fuzz atop Hugo's head, and the baby kicked a tiny foot.

"Good night, Severus." The words were barely out of her mouth, and Hermione was fast asleep.

The corridor outside Hermione's room was deserted, and through the window at the end of the hall Severus could see the sky slowly turning from black to deepest purple and blue over the London skyline. Night was over and dawn was breaking.

FIVEOFWANDSSDNAWFOEVIF

Author's Note: If you're not keen on lemons, you might not wish to read further.


	10. Chapter 10

See Chapter One for disclaimer

TWOOFCUPSSPUCFOOWT

**Chapter Ten: Two of Cups**

TWOOFCUPSSPUCFOOWT

Gravel crunched under his feet as he Apparated to the end of the Malfoys' drive. The grounds were silent, and the front of the house was bathed in rose-colored morning light. The only signs of the previous night's revelry were deep ruts in the lawn where hurried carriages had gone off the drive, presumably to get their occupants away as quickly as possible.

As he approached, he was pleasantly surprised to see Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco having breakfast on the terrace on the east side of the house. Lucius gave him a wave and beckoned him to join them.

"Severus," said Lucius with a tired smile. "Welcome back. I believe this is yours?"

Severus gratefully accepted his wand and a cup of oddly-colored tea that Draco handed him. He was amused to see that their breakfast consisted only of very simple fare, since their servants were no longer about.

"I'm glad to see you all well."

"As well as can be expected," said Narcissa with sigh, gesturing at a copy of the Morning Prophet: Special Edition that lay face-down on the table. "I suppose you haven't seen the papers?"

"I do not plan to read them for several weeks."

"I don't see why not," said Lucius, "when you had the temerity to upstage our scandal."

"It really did have everything," commented Draco. "Violence, costumes, rebellion, ancient magic, pureblooded excess, and orangutans. Everyone loves orangutans."

"But you had to do the one thing that could relegate the whole matter to below the fold on the front page," said Narcissa. "You broke up the second most beloved couple in Britain."

"I had nothing to do with the actual breaking," protested Severus. "And when the facts start coming out, everyone will understand that they're both the same scandal, and your names will be in the headlines again."

"But it's not the same," protested Lucius in a tone that would have been called a whine in someone less well bred.

"It's hardly a loss," said Severus, discreetly dumping the awful tea into a nearby plant. "Nobody was injured seriously enough to warrant a lawsuit, and you'll have the reputation for throwing the best parties in the country."

"I suppose we can always emphasize the fact that you were in hiding at the Manor in our follow-up interview," said Narcissa thoughtfully.

Severus nearly sprayed his hosts with Tandoori chicken. "You've already spoken with the press?"

"Naturally," said Narcissa. "They took some wonderful pictures of the ruined ballroom. Of course, they'd have looked far more shocking if they hadn't been reduced to make room for pictures of you in flagrante delicto with Weasley's wife."

"I only kissed her, and she wasn't even married at the time," protested Severus. "There's nothing at all scandalous about a single man kissing an unmarried woman."

"As if the facts make any difference in a sex scandal," scoffed Lucius.

"The truth will emerge," said Severus stonily, "and once that happens, everyone's attention will return to the far more enduring and politically significant scandal: yours."

All three Malfoys emitted sounds of disgust.

"Politically significant?" said Lucius with a sneer. "The whole point of a useful scandal is that it contains nothing substantial. The moment it becomes anything more than that, one is in danger of becoming a symbol, and that has absolutely no social advantage whatsoever."

Severus sat back in his seat, smirking. "It could make a family on the very edge of respectability one that society looks up to."

"Society places heroes on pedestals only to give them further to fall," said Lucius.

"Just ask Granger and Weasley," said Draco with a shrug. "Not that I'm ungrateful, mind. I won't have to hear her moan about her awful husband anymore, at least not until you do the right thing by her."

"We're perfectly content to exist as names on the social pages," said Narcissa. "Those are the sorts of headlines that don't negatively affect our business interests and international partners."

"And yet you've managed to become embroiled in Hermione Granger's pet cause," said Severus.

"That, old friend, is where you come in," said Lucius with a predatory smile.

"Since you ungenerously deprived us the pleasure of presenting you to the wizarding world, the least you can do is do your utmost to divert the world's attention from her involvement with the house-elves," said Narcissa.

"And instead focus their attention on her involvement with me?" asked Severus, scowling.

"It needn't be anything sordid," said Lucius. "Merely suggestive. Such as allowing yourself to be photographed in a lingerie or jewelry shop."

"Or having a row with Weasley in public," added Draco hopefully.

"Absolutely not."

"We're not asking you to do anything you weren't already planning to do to court her, Severus," amended Narcissa hastily. "We're simply asking that you temporarily do away with your characteristic shroud of paranoia and secrecy."

Severus glowered at his friends and was about to reject their proposal when a thought occurred to him. Hermione had promised the elves to break them out of Azkaban if they were given absurd sentences. If their trial turned out not to be the enormous breakthrough for elf rights that Hermione anticipated, perhaps it would be wise to have a distraction in reserve.

"I'm going to bed," he said, brushing naan crumbs from the table and rising.

"You won't hear a peep from us," said Lucius. "We're leaving for our chateau in France after breakfast until the Manor has been repaired."

"Of course," said Severus grumpily. He let himself in through the French doors and stopped short.

He turned back to the family, who were still on the terrace.

"You did say you were planning on staying in France until the house has been repaired?"

"Yes," said Lucius. "As you can see, the house is quite uninhabitable."

"I think you had better see this," said Severus, gesturing into the house.

Frowning, Lucius followed him, and Draco and Narcissa came shortly after.

They stood in the French doors and stared.

The ballroom lay before them in the early morning light as spotless as it had ever been. The parquet floor was polished to a mirror shine, the pale blue walls were pristine, and there wasn't so much as a piece of lint on the velvet upholstery. Even the flower arrangements had been refreshed.

The Malfoys walked through their restored home in shocked silence.

A wonderful smell drifted to Severus's nose, and he knew what he would find in the dining room before he reached the door.

The buffet table along the side of the room was filled with an enormous breakfast - eggs, bacon, kippers, sausages, kidneys, ham, plates of tomatoes and baked beans, a mountain of toast, oatcakes, buns, honey, marmalade, and every conceivable sort of jam. Silver urns filled with hot tea steamed at the end of the buffet.

Lucius let out a little cry and began loading his plate with slightly more gusto than decorum allowed. The rest of them followed suit, even Severus, who enjoyed samosas as much as the next Englishman. They were no match for proper breakfast. They ate in silence, savoring every bite as if it were to be their last.

When they had pushed their plates aside and topped off their cups with the fragrant, perfectly brewed tea, Lucius cleared his throat. "While I am not in the habit of looking gift dragons in the mouth, I confess to being somewhat perplexed."

"I should think it would be obvious to you, dear," said Narcissa. She gestured at the newspaper she'd brought from the terrace. "A number of the elves involved in last night's insurrection were coerced. Taddy and Mimsy have returned to us."

"Not Mimsy," came a soft voice from the corner of the room.

Taddy had appeared silently in the corner. He wore a blue tunic and looked weary to the bone.

"Mimsy has gone, but Taddy is returning to master and mistress," he said, bowing low.

"Marvelous," said Narcissa, with a radiant smile. "We will have Mrs. Travers sew you a new uniform."

"Thank you, mistress," said Taddy, "but Taddy would rather remain free."

Lucius snorted. "Absurd. People in our position cannot afford retainers that we can't trust unconditionally."

"With due respect, master, you has never ordered Taddy to keep the family's secrets, yet Taddy has kept master's and mistress's confidences. You has never had to punish Taddy for disobedience, and Taddy learns from his mistakes. Taddy is a good elf and will always be a good elf if you is accepting his service."

"You'll be wanting payment and weekends off, I suppose?" sighed Narcissa.

"Taddy will be happy with what you feel is fair for his service, and Taddy will request a day off at least a week in advance."

Severus frowned at the elf. "Why on earth would you want to stay? Lucius and Narcissa are hardly known for their devotion to elvish welfare."

"Taddy sees it as a good situation for all. Taddy is getting a better situation with an old family, and Master and Mistress is getting a good servant who is happy to show the world that not all elves is like Dobby and his followers. Taddy is also confident that he will be compensated accordingly."

"It might be a wise move," said Draco, while the others mulled over the elf's words. "It would take some of the political weight out of the scandal if it were known that you employed a free elf."

Severus also suspected that having the Malfoy's home restored by elf magic could soften the Wizengamot's grudge against the rebellious elves, but he knew better than to mention this to the Malfoys.

"Ten galleons a month," said Lucius, with a look of grudging admiration at the elf.

Taddy bowed low, which did not entirely hide his toothy grin. "Master is most generous. Taddy will return to his duties now." He disappeared with a soft pop.

"Why do I get the impression that I've just been taken advantage of?" asked Lucius.

"Because he was banking on our ignorance of what other elves are paid," said Narcissa.

"Chin up, Lucius," said Severus, smirking. "You're now part of a grand tradition of clever servants and their foolish masters. Perhaps they'll even write an opera about you."

"I suppose I might make up for the monetary loss by charging long-term lodgers rent," said Lucius.

"It would hardly be the way to secure my assistance in making a distraction of my romance with Miss Granger," replied Severus smugly.

"And speaking of which," said Draco, rising, "I thought I might stop by to see Hermione, since Louise won't be expecting me for hours. Did the healers give any indication when she'll be released?"

"She was sleeping when I left her not long ago. The delivery did not seem to inflict any serious injury on mother or child," said Severus.

"They usually give new mothers the option of staying another day," said Narcissa. "In her case, they might try to get her and the media who are no doubt camped in the lobby out of the hospital as soon as possible."

"I'll be there when she wakes. Shall I let her know where to find you?" he asked Severus in innocent tones.

"Precisely how do you expect to get in?" asked Severus. "They'll have locked her up more tightly than their supply of Dreamless Sleep."

"I do work for Magical Law Enforcement, and she is my supervisor" said Draco smugly. "Not to mention the fact that I'm terribly good-looking."

"You should have Taddy fix her a plate of something," said Narcissa. "St. Mungo's, while competent in the healing arts, is not known for the flavor of its nourishing cuisine."

"I'll arrange to have flowers sent," said Lucius.

Draco shook his father's hand and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Thank you both. I'll see you next week."

Severus barely managed not to spit out his tea. After Draco was out of earshot, he rounded on his friends. "What are you playing at?" demanded Severus. "Why the solicitude toward Miss Granger?"

"Are we not allowed to congratulate our son's supervisor on the birth of her son?" asked Lucius innocently.

"Or on her good sense not to return to her moronic husband?" added Narcissa.

"Bollocks," said Severus. "You've all but ordered me to pursue her- which, I'll have you know, I decided to do long before you mentioned it to me- you've bought into her cause at the price of ten Galleons a month, and now you're plying her with flowers and delicacies. All of this points to an ulterior motive."

"It's no secret," said Lucius, "unless you're still too wrapped up in last night's mystery to recall what was about to happen when you discovered something was amiss."

This time, Severus did spit out his tea. "You cannot be serious."

"Why not?" asked Narcissa. "The girl's not unattractive- you obviously think well of her."

"But in the light of day without foreign parts to guide you, how can you possibly think it appropriate?"

"Oh, how sweet," exclaimed Lucius, clasping his hands in delight. "Severus is being protective!"

"You mean selfish," said Narcissa, not unkindly. "It does make sense that you'd like the opportunity to make an impression with the girl before allowing us to share."

"I-" began Severus, outraged.

"We'll say no more on the subject," said Narcissa, pressing her finger against Severus's lips.

"At least, not until you both approach us," finished Lucius, clapping him warmly on the shoulder.

"But I do hope you'll bring her to dinner next Saturday," said Narcissa. "We have a scandal to spin to our advantage, and her presence will make things much easier."

"For all love, the woman just gave birth last night!" said Severus, finding his voice at last.

"Then you'd better ask her soon, otherwise her schedule will be filled with family visits. It's important that a new mother take some time for herself," said Narcissa.

"This entire conversation is absurd," said Severus, dabbing the corners of his mouth. "What time on Saturday?"

"Hors d'oeuvres at six, dinner at seven," said Lucius with a smile. "We promise to be on our best behavior."

"That's what concerns me."

"We promise not to invite her upstairs," said Narcissa. "Though we're unlikely to say no if she expresses interest."

"Draco and Louise will also be invited," added Lucius, "as added assurance of decent conduct."

"I have business to attend to on Monday. If that business is resolved satisfactorily and if I am able to speak with Miss Granger, I may consider inviting her."

"Thank you, Severus," said Narcissa, kissing him fondly on the cheek.

"I'm going to bed," grumbled Severus, closing the dining room door behind him.

Lucius raised his teacup to his wife. "To a wildly successful evening."

"The first of many, many more," she replied, touching the rim of her cup to his.

She laid her hand atop his and gave it a small squeeze. They both winced as their injured hands throbbed, scabbed and chapped as they were from the house-elves' revenge.

"Though perhaps the next several evenings will include bowls of Murtlap essence," suggested Lucius ruefully.

TWOOFCUPSSPUCFOOWT

Severus was beginning to fear for the carpet. It was a novel experience, to be sure, both having a carpet nice enough to worry about and seeing Hermione nervous enough to pace. Severus couldn't quite bring himself to bark at her for it.

After months of receiving escaped and newly-freed house-elves, both legal and otherwise, Spinner's End was virtually unrecognizable from the dilapidated wreck it had been. No elf seemed able to leave it without making some sort of improvement, from reupholstering the furniture to expanding into the abandoned houses next door. Now the old place was nearly fit for polite company. In fact, Severus could no longer in good conscience refuse the Malfoys' unsubtle requests be invited to supper, which was, he suspected, the reason for Hermione's nervousness.

It was either that or the fact that the children were with their father and Luna for the week. This resulted more frequently than not in Rose or Hugo sustaining an unserious but horrid-looking injury just before their return to Hermione's new flat in London.

Severus marveled at the rather singular woman who was now wearing an ovoid track in his carpet and decided to take pity on her. He rose from the char from which he had observed her and handed her a glass of wine and kissed her cheek.

"You needn't worry. The food has been meticulously prepared, the house is spotless, and you look beautiful."

Hermione sighed and smoothed out the fabric of her gown, claret-colored charmeuse, with a row of tiny buttons up her back. "That's not what's making me nervous."

"We invited them to dinner Hermione, not into our bedroom."

Hermione gave him a look. "Do you really think they they're no longer interested?"

"I couldn't say," said Severus, not wishing to pressure her by informing her of the Malfoys' relentless hinting, but, but also not wishing to leave Hermione unprepared.

Fortunately, Hermione was clever enough to read between the lines. "I thought as much." She sighed and resumed pacing. "I feel like I'm showing up for the exam of a course I haven't attended. I don't understand how you can be so calm."

"Worrying isn't going to make my performance tonight any better," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Quite the contrary for most men, I'm told."

"It's all right for you," she said, leaning her head against his chest. "You've been friends with them for years. I'm the one who's facing the Inquisition tonight."

"Such dire metaphors," he said drily, dropping a kiss on her head. "Please be assured, my dear, you have nothing to be concerned about. The Lucius and Narcissa with whom you will be dining this evening will be very different from the Lucius and Narcissa you met at the ball. They will be warm, charming, and witty, and I will be much surprised if you do not invite them upstairs yourself."

"I will never understand them," she said with a sigh.

Severus kissed her forehead fondly. "One doesn't need to understand how a piano works to enjoy the sound it makes."

She sighed contentedly. "You know that I don't need the Malfoys to be happy. I'd be perfectly fine with this for rest of my life."

"You're easily pleased," he said with amusement in his voice.

"I didn't mean just kissing," she said, giving him a half scowl. "I meant it being just the two of us."

"I know that, dear one. I hope you know that the same is true of me."

"Then why exactly are the Malfoys coming tonight? Other than that they invited themselves. It's not that I'm not intrigued by what they've suggested, but part of me is curious why two people who are happy with one another would want to be with anyone else."

"I'm hardly an expert on such things," said Severus, "but I have known Lucius and Narcissa for a number of years, and a better-matched pair I can't envision. I discovered that they invited others to participate in their connubial bliss not long after they married, and it shocked me. I said some rather ungenerous things to Lucius at the time, but he only laughed, saying that I'd understand if I ever found a partner worthy of me."

"Well, do you understand now?"

"Presumptuous," said Severus, smirking.

"Don't be coy," she said. "Both of us are too old for that to be charming."

"Speak for yourself," he said running his hand across the warm silk on her hip. "What I suspect he meant has everything to do with the fact that both of us know we would be perfectly content with the other exclusively."

Hermione's eyes widened. "He meant that we should be more than content."

Severus cupped her cheek in his hand. "Excellent deduction, Miss Granger. I believe his phrase for it was 'ecstatically exhausted.'"

Hermione brushed a kiss against the edge of his palm. "The words of a great poet spring to mind."

He gave a long-suffering sigh, which was made much less dramatic when he tenderly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Must you quote?"

"Oh yes," said Hermione, brightly. "Unless you prefer my highly sentimental interpretation, which is that Lucius Malfoy believes it impossible that a person should recognize deep love unless he feels it himself."

"Sentimental, indeed," sniffed Severus.

"I could remind you that it is rash to condemn where you are ignorant," said Hermione in the lofty tones of an orator.

"I could remind you that it is plagiarism not to declare the source of one's quotes," he retorted. "Are those Plato's thoughts on ignorance?"

"Seneca's," she said with a mischievous grin.

"With due respect to Seneca, both his words and your interpretation are irrelevant," said Severus, sitting down in a wing chair. "What Lucius was saying is that once you are with a partner whose happiness you value higher than your own, your own petty jealousies begin to pale beside your desire to please your partner in new and exciting ways."

Hermione thought on this for a moment and balanced herself on the arm of his chair. "It's an attractive argument, but aren't you afraid that I might run off with Lucius?"

Severus raised his eyebrows. "I can't imagine you being tolerant of his spending more time on his hair than you do on paperwork on any given workday, no more than I would be able to tolerate Narcissa's poniard tongue for any considerable period of time."

"Very well," said Hermione, sliding saucily over the arm of the chair and into his lap. "But this all has been very discursive when you might have simply allowed me my quotation."

"All right," said Severus, not sure whether he was succumbing to her argument or to her lips, which were pressing soft kisses against his jugular.

Before he realized what was happening, she was straddling him in the chair, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, kissing every inch of exposed flesh.

"And in the end," she said, taking his earlobe in her mouth, "the love you take is equal to the love you make. Lennon and McCartney." She punctuated her words with hot, firm kisses that went directly from his earlobe to his groin.

He closed his eyes and lay his head back, struggling to keep his arousal in check, at least until after their guests arrived. However, when Hermione's hot mouth descended upon his, all conscious thought evaporated in a searing meeting of lips and tongues. He hardly registered the reading lamp shaking precariously as the chair jostled the side table next to the chair. All that mattered was getting her soft, warm flesh against his.

It was easier than he had anticipated, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"No knickers?"

"I didn't have time to pick up anything new or fancy. I trust you find the choice acceptable?"

Severus let his erection twitch its approval.

She gave him a smile that was pure mischief as she unbuttoned his shirt, robe, and trousers. "They'll be here any minute, you know," she said, extricating herself from the chair to pull his trousers down below the seat of the chair and placing a leisurely kiss on his glans, which was straining through the thin fabric of his underwear.

"I'm well aware of that," he said, his breathless voice belying his scathing tone.

She turned around and began unfastening her dress's tiny buttons. "They might even be watching us, planning their attack."

"Again, the melodramatic metaphors," exclaimed Severus, undoing the last of the buttons and nibbling the top of her shoulder and her neck. "Perhaps you would be looking forward to this more if you thought of things in more pleasant, approachable terms."

Hermione was nearly cross-eyed with arousal by the time he released her, but she had a mischievous sparkle in her eyes when she turned to face him. "What would you suggest? Picking daisies in the sunshine?"

Severus snorted as he imagined Lucius and Narcissa doing just that. "Think of this as a game of cards," he said, slipping her dress over her head and obligingly raised arms.

They seized one another in a heady kiss, hot flesh against flesh, their tongues teasing one another's lips, until one or the other remembered to breathe.

"Cards?" said Hermione, gasping as he began sucking hard on her neck. "Are there to be fifty-two of us? I should think that would be too many, even for Lucius and Narcissa."

He pulled her tightly against him, and his arousal pressed demandingly into her. "There will be four players tonight."

She couldn't resist taking one of his small brown nipples into her mouth and ghosting her teeth over it until it turned pink and stiff. When she released him, he held her tightly against his chest.

"A game of Hearts?" she asked, listening to his beating wildly beneath his ribcage.

"Whist," he whispered, unfastening her brassiere and kissing her breastbone. Gently, reverently, he lifted her breasts and planted soft kisses around the smooth white flesh, eventually laving the nipples softly with his tongue.

Hermione gasped loudly and began tugging inefficiently on the waistband of his underpants. "Right, whist," she said, kneeling before him as she caught her breath. She reached up with trembling hands and pulled down his deep blue briefs. "What kind of whist?"

"As you please."

Hermione smiled up at him and ran her tongue along the shaft of his erection. "I never learned any of them well," she admitted, tracing an identical line along the other side of his penis. "If I recall correctly, the game starts with bidding for trumps. I'm not quite sure how that applies to a ménage à quatre."

"Simple," said Severus, attempting to keep his voice even as her hot little mouth closed over the tip of his cock and she began doing maddening things with her tongue. "Even before play begins, the rules of the game and the roles of each participant must be determined."

Hermione kissed the raised edge of his glans. "It sounds like a civilized game."

"Malfoys do not play Exploding Snap," he said, shifting his hips closer to the edge of the seat. "Whist appeals to Slytherin sensibilities in that the early stages require close attention to your partner and the other players and subtle communication."

She blew gently across his moist flesh, which made him shiver. "I'm not likely to be much good at it, then."

"You give yourself too little credit," he croaked.

Hermione wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and gave him a squeeze. "Please continue."

Severus gestured for her to do the same, which she did with a charmingly insolent toss of her head.

"Then the play begins," whispered Severus, his eyes rolling back as Hermione began to suck rhythmically on his cock. "If you play hearts, you know the rest."

She paused to stroke her fist down his slick length and cupped his scrotum gently with her free hand. "Lead with your strong suit."

"Yes," he hissed, falling against the back of the chair.

She took his full length into her mouth and suckled him gently for a few moments before releasing him. "Then, you take all the tricks you possibly can?"

He managed to tut at her without groaning. "Remember your partner, whose strong suits you know." He gestured for her to stand, and she obliged him He extended a finger to stroke the neatly-trimmed curls that covered her pudenda. "For example, if I perceive that you previously indicated that you were desirous of having hearts as the trump suit, I would be obliged to alter my play accordingly."

He parted her lips gently with his fingers and inhaled deeply, which sent a thrum of anticipation through her. She stepped closer and widened her stance to give him better access, and his tongue darted between her folds, brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves he had uncovered.

She inhaled sharply as a fierce jolt of pleasure ran through her.

Encouraged by her response, Severus thrust the blade of his tongue deeper into her cleft and drew it upwards, which drew a soft moan from Hermione. His lapped eagerly at her, his tongue was hot and strong as he licked a circuit between her opening and her clitoris.

A wildfire was spreading through Hermione's body, flaring with every movement of Severus's tongue. She was breathing hard, and she felt a delicious pressure coiling deeply within her. When Severus paused to catch his breath, she pushed him gently back in his chair, climbed up, and straddled him.

"This has been most informative," she said, with a heroic attempt at nonchalance. "That leaves me with only the question of how the winner is determined." She settled down atop him, trapping his erection between them.

"Merlin's Merrywidow," growled Severus, "it's only a metaphor, woman."

Her laughter rang in his ears as he threw his arms around her and pressed her tightly against him, cupping her buttocks in his hands and maneuvering her hot center closer to his straining cock.

"Severus!" she whispered as the blunt tip of his penis brushed her opening. The light touch sent a rush of arousal through her that was so intense she could hardly breathe. She adjusted herself slightly and met his eyes. She held his gaze as she slowly slid down upon him, reveling in the way his pupils, hardly discernable from the dark irises that surrounded them, widened as he filled her.

When her pelvis finally rested against his, his penis fully sheathed inside her, she allowed her eyes to flutter shut and fully experience being filled with Severus Snape's cock. Her insides felt content and full, and the sensitive edges of her opening tingled from the heat of his body. It was a glorious feeling, and she knew that it was only the beginning.

Her body twitched suddenly at the thought, and both of them gasped. An obscenity fell from Severus's lips, and he began to rock gently beneath her, breathing raggedly as he attempted to hold himself in check.

Hermione began to move her hips along with his gentle thrusts. Her insides were pulsing gently with her heartbeat, and she found herself incapable of finishing a sentence as her speech was truncated by the rising and falling of Severus's glorious cock. She had previously thought that he fit her perfectly, but as his arousal grew, so did her feeling of fullness and the glorious friction it caused deep within her.

She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, which put her breasts at his mouth level.

He looked into her face, seeking permission, which she granted by cupping her breasts and leaning forward towards him. He slowed his rocking to plant a kiss on her breastbone and then kiss a line to her darkened aureole. He took one of her nipples between his lips and sucked gently, coaxing a few drops of milk from her breast before he released it from his mouth.

It felt as if Severus had ignited every nerve in her upper body, and Hermione let out a guttural groan. She ran her fingernails lightly along his sides, inhaled the musk of his arousal and ran her teeth lightly along his neck. His pulse was racing, and she pressed her lips to it, sucking gently.

Severus's rasping breaths grew more frequent, and his rocking was becoming more punctuated with uncontrollable thrusts. He seized her hips and pulled her forward, and her sensitive areas came in sudden contact with the base of his penis.

Hermione gasped loudly as an intense jolt of pleasure shot through her body. "Oh God, Severus, what- you- oh GOD don't stop!"

She darted in to kiss him between thrusts and ran her mouth and fingers over every bit of his flesh she could reach, tasting, rubbing, nibbling and stroking. He followed suit, occasionally slipping his hand between them to tweak or rub her clitoris between thrusts and pressing his mouth against her hot skin.

They were both panting and beads of sweat stood out on Severus's forehead. He wrapped his arms around her waist and began thrusting upwards into her with all his strength. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut and she met him thrust for thrust as her arousal coiled more and more tightly in her abdomen.

Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat and her awareness focused to a tiny point between her legs. She inhaled raggedly in a moment of curious suspension, and then her consciousness exploded into an earth-shattering climax that made her shout.

Severus had never heard such a sound from her throat- he'd heard whimpers and groans, giggles and gasps, but the triumphant roar of his lover in the midst of an intense climax was more than enough to push him over the edge.

His hip flexors jerked upwards as her muscles seized him and pulsed hard around him. She continued uttering joyous noises, and his ecstatic cry soon joined hers as he emptied himself inside her in a rush that felt as though it would never end.

When their respective climaxes finally subsided to gentle throbbing, Hermione collapsed bonelessly on top of him, draping her arms over his shoulders and leaning her head against his.

"I think," she said, still slightly out of breath, "that we both won just now."

He gave her a soft smile. "Then I'm afraid we're destined to be partners."

She kissed him tenderly, caressing his lower lip with hers. "There are worse fates," she said with a wry smile.

There was a loud knock at the door.

"Such as being caught underdressed at a dinner party," said Severus with a grimace.

Hermione leapt to her feet and swore as drops of their shared climax ran down her legs.

Severus vanished the mess with a flick of his wand and fastened his trousers.

Hermione was struggling to fasten the buttons on her back. "Blast these buttons!" she growled. "Severus, would you help me?"

He unfastened the several buttons she'd fastened askew and redid them properly. "You're quite presentable," he said. "I'm happy to let them in and serve wine if you'd like some time to compose yourself."

Hermione smoothed her curls back from her face, which was flushed so becomingly that Severus couldn't resist claiming another kiss.

"I'm fine," she said. "Besides, dinner's ready to serve."

"Really?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

Her grin was like the sun. "I think I've had another paradigm shift. Or perhaps it was your metaphor that did it."

"Very well," he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the door. "Let the game begin."

**THE END**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **

The prompt Sabrebabe gave me is as follows: a Halloween Bash or other costumed Ball. At midnight, when all should be revealed, instead, all the costumes become real. Anyone dressed as a werewolf becomes a werewolf, etc. Time is frozen at midnight and no one can leave the building. Severus and Hermione (as whatever they've become) are the detectives in this mystery. Can be a comedy or something much spookier. Happy ending, please.

Winsquifflers, Gnoolies, and information on antiques forgery are courtersy Roald Dahl (the BFG, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, and Parson's Pleasure, respectively). References to orangutans derive from Edgar Allan Poe's Hop Frog, in which a jester arranges a spectacular revenge upon his sovereign. Thanks for my mother for helping me with French. The title comes from Alexander Pope's "Eloisa to Abelard." All other quotations are properly acknowledged. Thanks to Italo Calvino whose "Castle of Crossed Destinies" inspired my use of the Tarot in structuring this story. Bigger thanks are due to Mr. 42, my beta reader, whose sharp eyes and pen improved this story more than words can tell. Enormous thanks are also due to the administrators and moderators of the exchange, whose patience I stretched to the utmost. Thank you, wonderful ladies!


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